A Sliver of Topaz
by MilkMamaReturns
Summary: Brennan's curiosity, as encouraged by Booth, leads her to discover the secrets behind the family ring. She discovers secrets, fears, and joys-but most of all, she discovers the meaning of family and love. Meanwhile, Angela searches for her own family.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: "A Sliver of Topaz"  
**Pairing**: Brennan's Family Story. A family story, a love story.  
**Rating**: T--although this chapter is probably K+  
**Spoilers**: n/a**  
****Chapter: 1**  
**Summary**: This is a sneak peak into a much longer fic which I will be expanding on like nobody's business this summer... Which begins in two weeks! I will be updating before then, though. Don't worry. =)

_I kicked the blankets on the floor  
Turned my pillow upside down  
I never never did before  
'cause I was tossin' and turnin'  
Turnin' and tossin'  
a-tossin' and turnin' all night_

She moved her hips to the beat as it blasted from the family radio. Manicured nails fluffed the bouffant until it was tall enough to earn a halo of cloud cover. Another dusting of hair spray. A green swing coat brushed against silk leggings as she leaned toward the mirror, adding another layer of lipstick.

"Tossin' and turnin' all night," she whisper-sang with the refrain. Her eyes were pulled from the gold-brushed en vogue mirror at the sight of movement outside of her bedroom door. She sighed heavily, annoyed, and set the lipstick on the vanity. "Ruth! Ruthie!"

The girl stopped her dancing and brushed back chestnut waves. "Yeah, mama?"

"What did I tell you, girl? Go get dressed. I'm not gonna tell you again. I swear on _everything holy_."

The girl sighed and walked back to her bedroom, shoulders hunched.

Her mother shook her head and walked back to the vanity where the bouffant was decked with a pearl comb. She opened her jewelry box and thumbed through the little pile of cheap costume jewelry until she found it.

A silver ring, size 6 with a sliver of topaz that captured the moonlight.

She slid it on her finger.

What Karen Stanley knew about that ring could hardly fill a paragraph. It had been handed down from generation to generation for an undocumented amount of time. A trip to a jewelry appraiser in the city shortly after she inherited it at the age of sixteen gained the knowledge that it wasn't worth much.

"Fifteen dollars," the man had said, holding the ring out to her. "Not worth much."

She fought the urge to glare at the man and instead left the shop without another word.

Although its intrinsic value was next to nil, the value of the ring meant much more than fifteen dollars worth of silver-alloy and a sliver of worthless stone. Her own granddaughter would someday realize this much more than she knew herself. It was the fact that every woman in her family from 1850 until the present had worn that ring that made it so valuable. Photographs disappear or can be improperly labeled, wedding dresses mildewed and dissolved with time, but the ring had an inerasable history.

If the ring could talk, which her granddaughter would say it would never be able to do, it would attest to the fact that it had once inadvertently shaken the hand of Lady Bird Johnson. It would say that a woman with only the clothing on her back and a ring on her finger had once hidden three days in a storm culvert to hide from her abusive husband. It would say that it was once worn by a still born child as it was baptized by the local priest. It would say that it was slid on the finger of a young bride as she was wished_ bon voyage_ by her mother.

It had history. It had a former life that could never be denied.

The wedding they attended that day in 1962--mother, father and three young daughters, was a bright and classic affair, worthy of all of the Jackie Kennedys of the world.

"Calm down, Tempe," Ruth snapped at her sister. Temperance was the middle daughter born to Karen and Frank Stanley. She looked everything like her older sister with the exception of a set of startlingly blue eyes and a wild temper which earned her the nickname of Temper-Tantrum.

"It's itchy," she whined back, scratching at the stiff polyester dress with white kid-gloved hands.

"Girls, do I have to separate you?" This time it was Frank, who gave the girls a stern look, his jaws set firmly with anger or something close to it.

"No, sir," Ruth replied before she shot her sister a cold glare. The glare said for Tempe to behave. Be silent. Be still. Be anything but a burden and an annoying little brat.

"Mama, I gotta potty!" This came from the youngest, three year old Anna.

"You wanna take her, hun?" Husband whispered to wife.

"I'll take her," Ruth interjected.

"You know where the rest room is?" Frank asked his eldest.

Ruth nodded and took Anna by the hand, leading her down the aisle. The wedding party had already begun to assemble outside of the double doors. Ruth was quick to notice the women--so many beautiful young women dressed in organdy and lace. A cloud of cream, floating full skirts and sweetheart necklines.

"Lost, sweetie?"

Ruth was startled to see a tall woman in a taffeta cocktail dress standing next to her.

"Wedding's about to begin. Why don't you and your li'l sister go sit down?"

"My sister has to pee." She hated herself almost immediately for spitting out such an incoherent sentence. It nearly cemented the theories by most adults that she was a child with a childlike brain.

She breathed deeply and turned to a man in a green tweed suit and coiffed hair. "She's gotta pee, Dick."

He cleared his throat. "Five minutes."

She turned back, bending a little, and condescending-to-the-tee, "Hear that, honey? Five minutes, or your mommy and daddy gon' beat you for being left in the hallway."

"C'mon, Anna." She had to remind herself of the rule of thumb: be seen, but not heard. She would leave talk-back when it came to Tempe and her big mouth when time came to it.

When she returned, the music was beginning. A woman in black cat frames was beginning to play the wedding march on the organ. Tempe was quick to point out to her sister, "You almost got in trouble. If you was a little later, daddy was gonna spank you."

"Shut up, Temper-Tantrum."

Her father looked harshly in their direction again. A look that was clearly read: _Another word out of you and you'll go to bed without supper. _Once sure that his daughters would remain well-behaved, he looked forward, straight-backed and listened for the bride's music to begin--which it did shortly. The audience stood as she and her escorts walked down the aisle.

"I hate you," Ruth whispered.

"Hate you more."

Her father reached out and smacked Ruth, who was closest, in the back of her head. There wasn't the kind of stigma in those days that came with corporal punishment. Eyes watered silently as the audience sat and the priest began his initial blessings and prayers over the couple.

Where most young girls, Anna and Tempe included, would have sat back in awe of the beauty of such a fairy tale wedding, Ruth slouched in her chair, her mind acloud with silent anger. How was it that she was always in charge of her sisters? How was it that she was never appreciated? She was twelve but often felt more like a second mother to her sisters. Not a single thought passed through her mind about how terribly selfish her thoughts were. But she was _twelve_, after all.

She was a twelve year old who wasn't enjoying a single moment of the wedding. She wanted to tear off the stupid dress her mother had put her in, put back on her clam-diggers and raise a raucous. She wanted to pull her sister's chocolatey curls. She wanted to throw cake at the ring bearer. She wanted to scream.

It wasn't hard to see that Ruth Stanley AKA future Ruth Keenan AKA Christine Brennan was a little spitfire with a rebellious streak. From day one, she was painfully compliant on the outside: doing her parents' will, taking care of her siblings, getting good marks in geography—But also from day one, she hated it all. She wanted to break out of her shell. She wanted to do something to get her name on the chalkboard. She wanted to kiss boys under the monkey bars. She wanted to learn how to shoot her daddy's .22. She wanted to wear pants, say 'piss', skip studying for her algebra test, listen to the Beatles, and thumb through Mad Magazine.

But as known for her independent streak as she was, she was also known for her sweet nature, easy laughter, and sparkling brown eyes.

_That's _what made her _her_.

They left the church reception hall shortly after the rain began to fall.

"We should go so we don't have to drive in this rain," she overheard her father saying to her mother. She nodded her bouffant and said her farewells to the other women whose husbands were retrieving them and herding them through the door like lost and overly primmed and powdered cattle.

Ruth was more than happy to get out of that church. Her mind was still brewing. She was still angry. And the downpour only made things that much worse.

She stomped across the country street, slipping half way in her kitten heels. She caught herself and continued her march.

"Wait up, Ruthie!" Her father lit up a cigar, threw the match to the curb and grabbed Anna's hand.

Ruth turned at the Ford and looked back at her family. Her father was walking toward her holding Anna's hand. Her mother was still gossiping on the curb with Mrs. Bauer who once taught her Catechism Class.

"C'mon, Mom!"

"Shut your mouth." Frank puffed a few more times before smothering the cigar under foot.

Ruth leaned against the Fairlane, hands tucked into pockets, head tipped to one side impatiently. "Mom! It's cold!"

"Get in the car," she shot back, turning and talking to Mrs. Bauer once more.

Through the dim light and rain, Ruth could see Tempe hopping down the steps of St. Michael's and toward the car.

Karen absently looked at her daughter, "Don't run, sweetie," then she continued her conversation.

"You're such a brat," Ruth told her sister as she ran across the street toward her. She stopped in the middle of the road having lost her shoe. Ruth growled at the inconvenience.

Nobody noticed the speeding Chrysler until it was too late. Tempe herself was probably the first to notice. She let out a short little shriek. A yelp. A gasp.

But it was all too late. Medical care wasn't what it is today and ambulances were next to nonexistent, especially in small towns.

The rest of the night was a nightmare. Anna sat up front crying and peeping over the seat as her father, cold-eyed sped to the next town over where the teaching hospital was.

In the back seat, Ruth held her sister's broken legs. Her mother smoothed back Tempe's hair and sung a lullaby through tears.

"All night, all day,  
Angels watching over me, my Lord.  
All night, all day,  
Angels watching over me."

Tempe held her mother's hand and stared into her eyes. She didn't blink. She breathed shallowly. Crimson blood soaked lilac-hued organdy.

"Sun is a-setting in the West;  
Angels watching over me, my Lord.  
Sleep my child, take your rest;  
Angels watching over me."

Ruth watched her sister's lively blue eyes glow dull.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2  
**

A cloud of dust grew behind the '71 Chevelle, dusting its cherry-red exterior with grayish powder. The vehicle pulled up beneath a sycamore. The summer sunshine warmed her dark hair and the long halter dress picked up the arid soil from the bumper as she walked to the front and sat on the hood.

Max slammed the driver's side door and walked to the front. "You ready, baby?"

She lit up a cigarette and threw the match to the dust. She sucked in the cool vapor, then pulled it out between two fingers. Her arms crossed as she looked over at the man in the gray-blue shirt and brown pants. He smiled at her with those twinkling blue eyes and reached for her free hand.

She took another drag. "Ah, fuck, Max. I don't--" She drew in more smoke. "I don't know. She's nuts, babe. She fuckin' doesn't remember my name, let alone the fact that I'm her daughter."

"She's your mother, Ruthie. I hate to break it to you, but she could die tomorrow and who knows if we're coming back?"

Her eyes wandered to the tall white building shaded by dessiduous trees and surrounded by manicured lawns. A few senior citizens with their helpers wandered around the grounds. "I just--" She brushed away her long brown hair and shook her head--a nervous gesture. "I don't want to see her that way, you know?"

He reached for her cigarette and sucked in a breath. "Take all the time you want, honey."

She laughed sweetly and looked over at him. "How is it that you're the only one who ever calls me that?"

"How is it that you're the only woman I've ever _wanted _to call that?"

She leaned close and kissed him--once, twice, three times. Then she leaned back and took the cigarette back from him.

"You say bye to your sisters?"

She shook her head. "I hate the idea of saying bye to Anna. It's not like--" She threw the cigarette to the ground, took out another and lit it, then brought it to her lips. "I'm gonna smoke the whole pack before I go in there." She laughed and looked again at Max. "It's not like I'm that close with Anna, you know. She hasn't even reached puberty yet." She breathed in the smoke, breathed it out. "And Caroline's four and she's just like Judith." She took a puff as a woman in a pink robe began to wander away from her helper. "I guess if dad's happy with her..."

"You don't have to be strong around me. Your step-mom's a bitch."

She laughed again, her eyes lighting up. "God, I love you." She shook her head and threw the cigarette to the ground, then hopped off the hood of the Chevelle. "Guess I should go in before I get cancer or something." She skipped across the gravel road and waved, her back still to him, "Wish me luck!"

"Good luck, baby."

Urine and ammonia were the first things to hit her senses as she walked into the home. A woman in a white nurse's cap, white dress, and white shoes met her at the door. "Just sign your name in, hun."

"Thank you." She jotted her name on the list and walked toward her mother's room.

Karen Stanley was on the first floor of the building in the recently added wing.

Ruth stood outside the door for a moment, breathed deeply, then knocked on the ajarred door. She let herself in to find something she didn't expect at all.

Where every other visit to the Ambrose Home for the Mentally Disabled and Diseased had resulted in a reunion with a woman in restraints of some sort--almost every time a straight jacket, Ruth found her mother sitting at the window seat calmly looking over a photo album. Her hair was disheveled, she wore a house dress, and she almost always smelled of fecal matter, but she was calmly dabbing tears away with a tissue and flipping the pages of the album.

"Mama?"

Karen looked up and smiled. "You're wearing a dress."

She fought the urge to cry and was able to keep her emotions restrained. "It's the style."

Karen nodded and patted the seat beside her, scooting over enough for her daughter to sit beside her. Ruth crossed the room and sat down. Karen pressed a kiss to her daughter's cheek. "You always were such a pretty girl, Ruthie." Karen stood and put the photo album away on a mostly empty shelf. She pushed the tissue into the pocket of the house dress. "Why'd you visit me?"

"I'm moving, mama. I just wanted to let you know first hand."

"Moving?" She nodded, but obviously looked disappointed. "I see."

"Is that OK?"

"No, no. Of course it's OK. You're a woman now. You're just the only one who ever visits me." She smiled sadly and nodded. She sat back down beside Ruth and patted her knee. "Where ya moving?"

"D.C., mama."

"Wow. Quite a move."

"I'm sorry," she couldn't help but to apologize for leaving her mother behind.

She smiled. "I'm all right here. Good food, interesting company--Lord knows, they keep me on my toes just as much as I keep them on theirs." She laughed lightly. "What's the reasoning?"

"I met a nice young man, mama."

"Yeah? Good. Every woman needs a nice young man." She stood up and walked to the shelf where a small jewelery box was kept and dug through the costume jewelery until she came to what she was looking for. "I need you to keep something special for me."

Ruth knew immediately what it was as her mother walked back to her. "The ring."

Karen took Ruth's hand with shaking fingers and set the ring in her daughter's palm--silver with a sliver of moonlight topaz. "Every eldest daughter has had this ring on their finger. My mother gave it to me, hers gave it to her and down the line." Ruth's fingers closed around the ring. "It's yours now. And when the time comes and you have a daughter, it'll be hers. It's there to remind you that you've got family, people you love, no matter where you go."

Ruth wrapped her arms around her mother's frail figure as her body began to shudder in sobs. The sobs began to grow until they became a hysterical wail and Karen crumpled to the ground and began to hit her head with her fists. The change in her demeanor was such a shock and so drastic that Ruth could only stand back in astonishment as nurses came in and began to sedate her...

Ruth ran across the dusty road. "Get in the car," she ordered Max who quickly complied and hopped in, starting up the engine.

"What's wrong?"

"Time to go."

The Chevelle peeled out of the spot, tearing up perfect green grass. Ruth quietly twisted the ring on her right hand as they drove across the states toward their new life. In search of excitement, change of venue, danger, and a new way of defining family.

-------------------

_Thank you for the wonderful reviews! I don't want to study for finals right now, so you get a new chapter! Woot!_

_Remember! _

_**May 7th--Bones: The Critic in the Cabernet & May 14th--Bones: The End in the Beginning**_


	3. Chapter 3

"Baby, just wait in the van." He said it as sweetly and forcefully as he could. But try as he might, Ruth was always a spit-fire kind of woman.

"Are you kidding me, Max?" She gave him that same look she gave him ten years before when he told her that men should open doors for their women. Not only did he get sharp words for being called his "woman", but he also earned that custom glare for being coddled. Years down the road, he would see that same look and that same stubborn streak in his daughter.

"You're pregnant," he informed her.

"I'm not stupid," she reminded him. "And I've been doing this for almost a decade, Max. Besides, it's not like we're going in there guns-a-blazin'." And just to articulate her point, she pulled out the Baretta 92 from his holster and loaded it without her eyes leaving his, as if to say that she could do it in the dark and still not shoot herself, or their baby.

He sighed. "Fine." There was no arguing with her. Being stubborn was nothing but a pastime for her. He slid to the back of the van and opened the double doors. They both entered the night just as someone moved in the shadows.

He stopped. She stopped.

"Keep going," he whispered.

She nodded, but just barely and kept walking ahead of him.

"Excuse me!" A man appeared from the darkness and began to walk toward him, hand on his weapon, security badge catching the light of the streetlamp. "Excuse me!"

Max turned and smiled at the man as Ruth continued to walk toward the front door of the bank.

"You! Ma'am! Freeze!" The guard gestured at Ruth.

Ruth turned and gave the man a confused look. "What's going on here?"

"I should be asking you two what the hell is going on."

Max smiled congenially, "Just hold on there, buddy. Might I suggest some deep-breathing techniques?" His blue eyes twinkled.

The guard shined his flashlight on Max's name tag. "You work for Mid Atlantic?" He narrowed his brows at Max. "And who's she? I wanna see some ID."

"You're a tough customer," Max grinned, taking out his wallet slowly to show that he wasn't any threat.

"I said, who's she?"

"Mrs. Alexander Fields," Ruth replied, glittering her ring at him. "The bank president's wife. I'd like to go in and get my purse without getting hounded, thank you very much." She rested a hand on her hip.

The guard shined his light on Mrs. Fields' protruding belly. "And you're pregnant?"

"No, I'm smuggling watermelons." She whipped out a cigarette and lit it. "God, you people are impertinent."

The guard took Max's ID. "What? You do house patrol or somethin'?"

"I work at the estate, yes. You should really take a break, buddy. Take a vacation."

"Excuse me for being a little suspicious with all of the banks being robbed in Maryland." The guard's speech slowed as he watched Mrs. Fields take a drag from the cigarette."Why don't we go inside and I'll give Mr. Fields a call for you."

"Why would you do that?"

"Call me suspicious. Inside we go. Go on." Inside, they were ushered into a small office where the security guard began to dial.

"You really don't have to do this. Alex won't be too happy with me."

"And I'm Tom Selleck. Just keep it down." His eyes shot to Max. "Keep your hands to yourself and stand still."

"You aren't a very peppy person, are you, son?"

"Just shut the hell up."

"This really isn't necessary," Ruth whispered again, this time with more worry in her voice.

The phone picked up on a fifth ring.

"Hello? Uh... What the hell time is it?" Alexander Fields sat up half way in bed and flipped on the lamp so he could squint at an alarm clock.

"Almost one, sir." He cleared his throat as Mr. Fields uttered a profane word. "I'm standing here in your office with a woman who clams to be your wife. She's about five-nine, brown hair, brown eyes, and about nine months pregnant. Looks like she's about to pop."

"Excuse me!" Ruth spat.

"Make that ten."

"Hey, be nice to the lady," Max chided.

"Is that Frank?" Fields asked. "That's the estate security guard."

The guard began to fidget. "And... and what about the lady?"

"That's my _wife_, you fucking hippie. Think we can end this call?"

"Uh... ye-yes, sir."

"_Thank _you," Fields--or, as he was known in the real world, Russ Staple--slammed the phone down and went back to sleep.

"Was that Max?" Asked the woman in the skimpy pink nightie.

"Deal's done, sweetheart. Now let's get some shut-eye." He wrapped his arm around her.

The security guard in the bank office slowly hung up the phone on the receiver. "Look..."

Max grinned and patted the man on the shoulder. "Can't blame you, son. God only knows how many break-ins there've been lately. You can never be too careful."

"I got kids..."

Max nodded slowly just as Ruth screamed and buckled over, grabbing her stomach.

Minutes later, the bank office was full of paramedics and EMTs as they strapped Ruth to the stretcher.

"You know this woman?" an EMT asked Max.

He shrugged. "Not personally. I'm just a security guard."

"This is gonna mean paperwork, dammit."

"I could keep an eye on things while you get a head-start. I don't have anywhere to go for a half-hour."

"Thank you. Y'know... I got kids."

Max nodded sympathetically.

When his shift ended, Max got into a red Chevy as it pulled into the the bank parking lot. The sun was just peeking over the horizon. Max kissed the driver who was clad in sunglasses and scarf.

"You should get pregnant more often, baby."

She smiled at him and stepped on the gas.

Max shifted and set his bag full of cash in the back seat beside his three year old son.

Later that night, the wires were tripped. Police flooeded into the parking lot. Stolen money was accounted for. But how did the thieves disappear so quickly?

"Inside job?" A detective with a thick mustache asked his parner as they stood beneath the streetlights.

"I can't make head or tail of this guy."

"He's good."

"We'll see how good he is when have his head in the gallows." A cigarette was tossed to the ground and smoldered in the dense evening darkness.

-------

_Thank you for the replies! Next chapter up soon. More B/B and current times/situations ASAP. _


	4. Chapter 4

Angela flipped through the blouses in Brennan's closet. She came across the specific one she had been hunting for and threw it on the pile that was forming at the base of her friend's bed. She stopped and watched as Brennan continued to shuffle through drawers, somewhat hurriedly.

"I'm gonna miss you, sweetie."

Brennan stopped for only a moment and looked at Angela. "It's only a few weeks. It's not forever."

Angela sat on her friend's bed. "Don't you think you should slow down a bit? Take a breather? Booth's hair hasn't even grown back and you're running off to Oregon or wherever."

Brennan stopped again. "He's _fine_, Angela. He's healthy. He's alive. He's fine."

"He's not _fine_, Brennan. He's not--he only has like ninety percent of his memory and he needs a friend right now to tell him that everything is going to be fine and that everything is going to go back to normal. He seems so--Someone to tell him that there's a happily ever after."

With that, Brennan threw the socks that she had in her hand into her suitcase. "You know I don't believe in that."

Angela sat beside her. A cool evening breeze was drifting through the window, softening the humid room and ruffling the drapes. "Right. Because you're far too logical to even assume that there could be a happily ever after. You can't even _lie _to a friend?"

"Lying to Booth will get him nowhere. Telling him that he needs to fight will be a lot more sensible in the long-term."

Angela nodded. "Fine. OK. Just call me often."

"I'll be fine, Ange."

Angela pulled her into a hug.

"I've been to Rowanda during wartime, being on the other side of the country will be _nothing _in comparison."

"It's just--usually you have Booth or some guy with a machete to protect you. Can't I worry for you like anyone else? Can't I pretend that you don't know ju jitsu? Can't I--miss you?"

Brennan stood and began to pack again, this time more slowly. "You can miss me, of course. But I'll be _safe_, Angela."

"It's not your _physical _safety I'm concerned for, Bren."

Brennan looked at her friend. "What else is there?"

"Your _heart_, Brennan. What if she rejects you? What if she doesn't recognize you or that ring? What if--There are a lot of what-ifs, Bren."

"This is the time, Angela. It's just something I need to do. Aren't you the one who always tells me that I need to set my roots in new soil, metaphorically speaking? This is something I need to do."

"Is this--?"

Brennan closed her suitcase. When Angela didn't continue, she asked, "Is it what, Ange?"

"Is this because of the--baby?" She gestured at Brennan's belly.

Brennan only looked confused. "I don't know--"

"I just thought... if you have to have roots--You've never gone looking for either of them before, sweetie. So what's your motivation now? The baby?"

Angela took Brennan's suitcase as her friend closed the window and locked it securely. "I've always been alone. I'm used to it. But it may be important to the baby someday. I'm only thinking of the baby, Angela."

Angela caught her friend in another hug as she turned from the window. "You've never been alone, sweetie. You aren't now." She looked into her eyes. "You'll always have me. You'll always have Booth--"

"He's--my partner."

Angela nodded. "Yeah. But he's your friend and he loves you--" Brennan opened her mouth, but Angela cut her off, "_just as I love you_." Angela pulled a bag over her shoulder. "C'mon. Let's get you to the airport on time."

Brennan unplugged a lamp and locked the door behind them.

The heat of the day drew clouds from the coast. A warm rain began to fall and lightning zigged and zagged across the gray-blue sky, turning an unfriendly-looking sky into mid-summer light show. The taxi pulled into Dulles. The loudspeaker called out names of flights that were canceled because of the storms. The flight to PDX wasn't among them.

The taxi driver pulled the luggage from the trunk and slammed it on the sidewalk unceremoniously. Angela gave him a little money. The driver looked annoyed at the tip, but left to circle the airport for a new fare.

"I'll just grab another taxi or call Hodgins or something," Angela said, assuring Brennan that it was fine that the driver had driven away.

Brennan smiled. "And how's that going? Are you two going to start up a sexual relationship again? You're quite compatible."

Angela laughed lightly as they walked up to the automatic ticket booth. Brennan retrieved her ticket and they walked toward the gate. "It's not always about sex, Bren. You should know that."

"I don't know what you mean by that, Ange."

"Oh, I think you do." Movement caught her eye and she looked up to see a familiar figure amongst the crowds, sporting a tee and jeans. "Speaking of which--"

Brennan looked in the direction that Angela was looking. "Booth." Her lips mouthed the word, but barely any sound came out.

Angela pulled her friend into a quick hug. "Be safe, sweetie. Call me when you land."

"Angela--" but her friend was gone before she could protest any more.

Booth smiled at her as he walked up to Brennan. "I got you something."

"Booth, you didn't have to. I'll be home again soon--"

He lifted the little red gift bag and produced a little book. "One Sudoku puzzle. Uh?" He grinned, truly pleased with himself and pulled out the next item. "A pen that says 'Bones'. I had to get that one made special." Brennan smiled and accepted the little trinkets into her hands. "And you'll like this last thing. Go on." He nudged the gift bag into her hand. She sighed and then slipped her hand into it and produced a--

"Cocky _ring_?"

"Found it online." He was like a child.

The call for Brennan's flight echoed through the loudspeaker.

"I should go, Booth."

"OK. Sure you should go? I mean, you're not still sick, right?"

"I'm feeling better."

"OK..."

_Boarding call for all first class passengers for flight___ to Portland, Oregon. Boarding call. Thank you.  
_

A look of disappointment crossed his face. "Bon voyage, Bones." He leaned close to kiss her cheek. Cold heat slipped through her limbs and she smiled brilliantly back at him.

"I'll call you when I land."

Booth watched until she dissappeared. Then he turned and Angela was standing with her hand on her hip.

"What? I'll miss her."

"Uh-huh," she replied, very Caroline-esque. "Dinner at Founding Fathers with Hodgins and me?"

"I'm going to bed, Angela. I've got a massive headache for some reason."

She laughed. "Yeah, you should see a doctor about that."

They walked together out of the busy airport. "Did... did Brennan talk to you about anything... in particular?"

"Huh?" He opened the door for her and she slid in. He slid in beside her. "Like what?"

"Oh nothing. Still have a patchy memory, huh?"

"I'll get it back eventually."

"I suppose everything happens eventually..."

Booth looked at Angela sharply. He had a sudden sense of deja vous. "What did you say?"

"Nothing."

He nodded slowly and looked out the window as they drove past the airport.


	5. Chapter 5

Sleep. His eyes fluttered closed after a few hours of tossing and turning. After a while, a fitful sleep commenced. It was just like any sleep before his surgery, except now it was sprinkled with nightmares and twisted dreams of memories lost. A terrible mix of old and new, what may have been, and what possibly had been.

Dreams of Parker.

Dreams of his past with Rebecca.

Dreams of Bones. But those last weeks were still blurry, fuzzy, muddled, unsure. None of it was very clear or dependable.

In his dreams he held her close as she dozed next to him. She wore a ring and he called her his wife. She told him she would be a mother. His heart leapt. But everything that he remembered before told him that it was all a dream. All fake. All imagined and nothing more.

The phone rang and he sat upright sharply. His head felt light and and he immediately had to fight for consciousness before reaching for his phone. "Bones?"

Brennan was in a hotel room in Portland, Oregon, digging for toothpaste and her pajamas. "I made it here fine, Booth. I told you nothing would happen. You and Angela--"

"I worry, Bones. You're my partner." Somehow those words carried with them a sting. It seemed that it had been a while since either of them had argued with anyone using the 'just partners' statement.

"Yeah." Her reply was weak.

"You OK?"

"I"m just tired, Booth. I didn't sleep very well on the plan. I'll call you in a few hours."

Booth rubbed his eyes and laid back into the pillows. "Hey, Bones--"

"Yeah?"

"I'm proud of you. This whole thing with your aunts--I'm just proud of you." There was silence on the other end, so after a few seconds, Booth said, "Good night, Bones."

"Good night, Booth." She hung up the phone and continued to unpack slowly. Why was it that talking with Booth now carried with it an inexplicable pain? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Loss?

_If I don't make it, I want you to have my stuff..._

But she shouldn't feel that way, right? No matter what, she was bound and determined to become a mother. Why did it matter if he didn't remember those things? Why did it matter that she had to make that decision by herself? Then hate herself afterward, but love the thought of it all as well? Wouldn't this make it easier? Booth was so hurt about her not caring if he was involved, that it practically sent him packing to the hospital.

_She must have watched the caller ID blink on her cell phone for a minute and a half before she stood up, left the tiny hospital room, and answered it in the hallway. _

_"Dr. Brennan, this is Shirley Padnick from Maryland Fertility Specialists. You never called back to confirm your appointment for this afternoon."_

_She remembered her body feeling cold, chilled. On one hand, the next appointment opening would be months away. On the other hand, Booth said 'If I don't make it' and he was obviously still alive, despite the coma... She squeezed her eyes shut, as if to shut away the confusion, the confliction, the nagging feeling that if she set up the appointment and went through with it, somehow she would be accepting the worse case scenario. On the other hand, there was the logical demand to go through with it. Logic always spoke loudest to her. _

_"I'll be in this afternoon."_

_Maybe there was a secret feeling that if she became pregnant and Booth didn't make it, that she wouldn't lose him after all... But that was illogical. She ignored it as best as she could.  
_

_"Excellent. We'll see you then."_

And yet... he still didn't know the truth. He didn't even suspect the truth. Was she a liar? Or was she doing as she told Angela and Cam? Telling them that she was waiting for the right time. But when would be the right time if his memory never recovered? Never?

She fell into bed, careful to lay on her left side. The room was completely silent, almost lonesome in its stillness. Her hand fell on her stomach. She didn't feel that pain of loneliness, when she acknowledged the baby's presence. It was illogical. It was silly. But it was comforting.

She was a woman who found comfort in logic, but somehow the illogical was more comforting than logic could ever be.

----------

The house was tall with white paint that was becoming greener with algae and moss every day, despite its immaculate yard and geometric hedges. She sat in her car for several minutes, debating within herself why she felt so anxious and why she ought to just march up and ring the doorbell and not be afraid. She found herself unconsciously twisting the ring on her right hand.

Two minutes ticked by. Her phone startled her. She sucked in a deep breath of air and answered it.

"Sweetie, did you talk to them yet?"

"Not yet. I'm about to go in."

"Sure..."

"I _am _going inside, Angela."

"Brennan, let's just level the playing field for a second. You're afraid. It's OK to be afraid, sweetie. It's a part of life."

"You were trying to talk me out of this in the airport. Which argument do I believe?" Brennan was sounding incredulous... and a little annoyed at Angela's change of pace.

"I was wrong. Well, not entirely. I was afraid for you, but that doesn't mean that you're not doing the right thing. You deserve happiness, Bren. You deserve to have roots, just like the rest of us."

"Like with your mother?"

On the other line, Angela's lips twisted. "I told you not to talk about her, sweetie. No offense, it's just... she abandoned me for crack cocaine. It's not like it was with your parents."

"They were all running from the law and abandoned their children."

"OK, let's just get this straight, sweetie. My mother left me with my father so she could get an easier high without some snotty brat kid slowing her down--her words, not mine. From what I know, she's been clean for a decade, but hasn't taken it upon herself to contact me. Your father found you and loves you, Brennan. Never forget that. He's not the best guy in the world, but you know what? If my mom came here and wanted to start a relationship with me, then I'd be all for it. But that isn't the case. You have family that wants you, Bren. You have aunts who don't know you exist and don't know what an amazing person you are. You can do this, sweetie."

Brennan watched as a windchime jingled in the Oregon wind. "I'm sorry, Angela. I guess I don't see the difference. Your relative is alive and doesn't know what a wonderful woman you've become, just as my relative is alive and doesn't know what an amazing person I am. What's the difference?"

Angela sighed and tapped her pen several times on her desk top. A minute passed. "OK, sweetie, but I'm only doing this because I love you. What if we make a deal? You ring that door bell and I'll contact my mom."

Brennan conceded and a minute later she was standing outside of the the garden gate and looking at the door. Her friend had met her half way. Would she go the other half? Knock on the door?

----

_Thank you for reading as always! I think I know what direction to go with this. I think there'll be a lot of Booth/Brennan tension. I think that we'll find out more about Angela's mother and her background. I'm excited to write more, knowing where I want this to go. :) And no, this hasn't been beta-ed or edited by myself. I don't think that's a concern with this fic because I want to get it up as I write it and I usually edit as I go. So if you see something odd, just read over it lol.  
_


	6. Chapter 6

Angela tapped the pen on her desk for several minutes and watched the activity in the lab. From where she sat, she could see Hodgins directing Wendell and Vincent in what he said would be 'an experiment of epic proportions'. Of course, Cam stood by, arms crossed, watching every step in the process. She occassionally stepped in from time to time to clarify the rules she had laid out. But Hodgins would look at her. They would, without words, agree to meet on common ground. Cam would step back and Hodgins would subtly change his plans. Authority was certainly not his thing, but somehow, Cam and Hodgins had created system where they respected one another for the sake of sanity and science.

Angela's eyes wandered to the back wall of her office. They traced the grotesque outline of a man, his arms spread, his head bowed. Jesus? A random corpse? What _had _she been thinking when she--

A cacophonous crash shook the lab. Her eyes jumped as well as her body.

Hodgins helped Cam to her feet. She was unscathed, but from her body language, it was simple to see that she wasn't too happy with the outcome of the experiment. Hodgins shrugged, palms to the sky. Cam crossed her arms and scowled. Then she laughed and shook her head. He laughed, too, then ran off the platform and into the Angela's office. He tore off his goggles from his smoke-charred face and was grinning ear to ear.

"Did you see that, Ange? When I say I'm good--I'm good!"

"Cam doesn't look very happy."

"Eh, she'll get over it." He noticed the sheet of paper in front of her and circled her desk to see what she was looking at on the laptop. "What's up with the--" He bent slightly to read it. "Looking for your mom? Angela--"

"What?" She stood and shut her laptop, covering up everything she had written her notes on.

"It's just-- It's your _mom_, Ange. I thought you didn't--"

"I promised Brennan."

"I--"

"Let's just say that every once in a while Brennan makes sense." She stood up and threw her purse over her shoulder.

"Need a friend to go with you?"

She turned at the door. "No. I think I can do this, Hodgins. Thank you, though."

"If you need me, Angela, I'm here. I'm here for you."

She bravely smiled and nodded. Hodgins watched her walk away with an address in hand.

He watched her for several seconds before running out of the door, unbuttoning his jacket. He tossed it on his desk and shouted to Cam, "I'll be right back."

Cam nodded, but Wendell was quick to yell at him, "Hey, man. What about the mess?"

Hodgins turned and pointed at him, "Noob!"

Wendell sighed and turned toward Vincent, "I can't believe he just left it for us to clean up."

"Did you know--"

"No, man, I don't."

"But, the first soaps were created--"

"Just. Stop right there."

-------

Her finger pressed into the doorbell and chimed throughout the house. After a few minutes of waiting, a young woman in her thirties with a child on her hip answered the door.

She looked confused at first, "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Anna Rochelle. Her maiden name was Stanley."

The woman's confused look became even more puzzled. She moved the child on her hip, then spoke, "Uh, I'm sorry, but she passed away just this last spring. Did you know her?"

It was a dagger. A dagger which stole her breath away. "Uh, no. No, I didn't."

"Would you like to come in?"

"No. Thank you."

The woman couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity. As if Brennan's features were etched into a deep part of her mind. "She was my mother, actually."

"I'm very sorry."

"I feel like I know you. Have _we _met?"

"My facial morphology is probably similar to those of your relatives."

"I'm sorry?"

"My--" She took a deep breath, feeling alone all at once, but her hand slipped to her belly. "My mother was Ruth Stanley."

"Oh, my--" She sucked in a deep breath. "Please come in. I have something to show you."

-------

Later that evening, Brennan sat at a small coffee shop in Portland. People walked by, talked, chatted, laughed. Brennan silently stirred her coffee and watched people saunter past the window.

She had traveled across the country in search of roots and family and she had come up with nothing.

It wasn't logical, but she felt like asking if the baby wouldn't mind not having family.

A woman ran into the coffee shop with her umbrella dripping, her hair matted to her head.

The manager laughed, "Got caught int he rain?"

"It's just pouring out there!"

"Nothing like summer rain."

"I don't know. I think we get enough rain the rest of the year."

"Touché." He laughed good-naturedly.

A waitress walked up to Brennan. "Want me to top you off?"

"No thank you."

She smiled at her sympathetically, having noticed her dour mood since she walked into the shop thirty minutes before, then walked away.

The sun began to fall behind the trees and buildings. The rain still tumbled from the clouds.

The waitress returned after a while. "I'm sorry but the shop's about to close."

Brennan stood, "It's OK. Thank you for the coffee."

"Any time."

The bells on the door jingled as she opened then closed the door. She watched as a few cars flew through the puddles to her left. The rain was coming down in sheets. She sighed and began to pull her collar up over her head to shield herself from the rain.

"Looking for this?"

She looked up. Although it was dark, she recognized Booth's frame. One hand was in his pocket, the other hand held an umbrella over his head.

A smile tugged at her lips until they were grinning widely at one another.

-----------------------------------

_Thank you all for the fabulous response! Yes, there were a couple of mistakes (grammatically) in the last chapter, but I said that I didn't want to fix them! LOL! :)_


	7. Chapter 7

By the time Angela pulled into the dirt driveway, the sun was low and the sky was blazing like smelted copper. The wheels of her Toyota grumbled and popped as she pulled into the parking spot beside a 1970s-era trailer house the was beyond repair. It sunk on one side into weak soil. Tall plants were growing from cracks in the plywood that held up the house. There was a divide down the center that cut the trailer house into a duplex-type of home.

She had to catch her breath as she remembered playing in such a yard. Long before her father took her on tour when she was a child. There once was a time when she lived such a life. Brief as it was, faded as those memories were, they were forever a part of her. Forever part of her existence. Forever part of her future.

Another car pulled in behind Angela. She crossed her arms and walked over to Hodgins. "I told you not to follow me, Hodgins. I said I could do this myself."

"Thought you'd need a friend."

"This is something I need to do on my own. You wouldn't understand." She turned again to the delapidated trailer house.

"Ange--"

"You don't know what it was like, Hodgins. I don't think that you understand. You never could. You grew up in a life full of you know--ponies--"

"Ponies?"

"Trips to Europe in the summer. A life of privilege. The first nine years of my life was full of anything but hope and privilege." Somewhere within herself, she didn't want to reveal this part of her past to Hodgins. Yes, he knew of her childhood from what she had told him in vague descriptions here and there, but actually seeing it--feeling it--_smelling _it--was a completely different experience.

"It made you who you are, Angela. Strong, resourceful. You wouldn't be the woman I fell--" They stopped for a moment, the words that would not be spoken hung between them like damp laundry flapping on the line. "You just wouldn't be the woman who stands before me today."

She nodded. A warm summer breeze tugged at her silken curls. A dog barked in the distance. A lawn mower buzzed deeply somewhere beyond the sycamores. The scent of rain in the distance suspended the warmth of freshly cut grass and fuel in the humid air. "You'll go in with me?"

He shook his head. "Someone's gotta keep an eye on the cars. Someone might strip them for parts or something." He chuckled.

"Your insurance could cover it."

"There isn't a bus line for miles, we'd have to walk." He looked at her scarlet stilettos. His smile disappeared. "It's you, Ange. Like you said, it's your thing."

She nodded again and without another word, walked to the trailer and knocked on the left side of the house. After a few minutes, a man with a pale white gut that peeked from beneath a stained white tee shirt answered the door.

"I think yer lost, miss."

"I'm looking for Mei-Fen."

He stared at her for several seconds. Perhaps a minute. As if he was trying to process what this beautiful city girl was wanting with Mei-Fen. He nodded and took a swig from the long neck that was in his right hand. "You want come in here? Might ruin yer pretty clo'es."

She hesitated for a second, then nodded and entered the residence.

"May! Gotcherself a visitor!" He turned to Angela. "Whatcher name huh?"

"Angela."

"Tayka seat." He nodded at a shabby, brownish-orange circa 1979 couch. Again she hesitated, then stepped over piles of trash and old magazines and newspapers until she came to it. She sat on the edge. A plume of dust billowed around her. She was alone in the little room for a fraction of a second before a bickering little Chinese woman came into the room, speaking in Mandarin to her boyfriend--words that were so slightly familiar to Angela--words that she had once heard, but could no longer remember.

She was smaller than Angela had remembered. She had aged by decades and looked frighteningly ill.

But that wasn't the greatest shock of all to Angela. The greatest shock was the fact that the woman was bouncing a toddler on her hip. The child was about two with round cheeks and bright Asian eyes. He looked like photos of herself as a toddler.

She must have been staring because Mei-Fen was quick to bark, "Who're you? You wanta sell subscriptions to magazines? I don't read those things. Wasting your time."

Angela stood slowly. The woman's eyes traveled up to meet Angela's eyes. Then they grew wide. "Lien."

"Angela. My name is Angela. I changed it when I was in college."

The woman put her child on the floor. He made his way through the maze of trash to the television where Sesame Street was blaring.

"His name is Brayden. _He _named him. Not me." She took a long drag of the cigarette that was in her hands. She seemed to grow three shades of gray within those seconds. Then the smoke was released into the room.

Angela stood dumbfounded. She had lost her philosophy. Love. Family. All she could think of was the little boy who was living in squalor and was sharing her blood!

"What? You come here for apologies? Want me to say I'm sorry? Or you come here for money?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry I wasted your time."

"That was quick!" Hodgins proclaimed as Angela made her escape.

"I can't believe what I just saw, Jack."

"Care to enlighten me?"

"I have a brother. He lives-- That can't be legal what they're doing!"

"Is he safe? I mean, he's alright, right?"

"Alive, yes. Alright? Not exactly." Angela got into her car, a plan formulating in her mind.

-----------

_Again, my sincerest thanks! :)_


	8. Chapter 8

He tried to keep his eyes averted as his partner exited the tiny hotel's bathroom wearing nothing but a puffy robe and too much for the imagination. She dried her hair with a white towel as they continued the conversation started earlier when they were on opposite sides of the door.

She walked to the book she had been reading in the coffee shop, picked it up, and sat beside Booth. Without a word, she handed it to him. They knew one another well enough that elaboration was not needed. He flipped through until a photo slipped to his lap.

"The eldest daughter was my mother. Her sisters were named Temperance and Anna."

His lips parted as the pieces fell together. He smiled. "She looks like you."

"My mother probably saw the resemblance and named me after my aunt when she changed my name."

"Bones--"

She stood and quickly changed the subject from her mother. She stood, picked up her hair brush at the counter and began to roughly brush her hair and gesture with it as she spoke. "There's a wedding this weekend and I'm invited. My grandfather is going to be there."

"What about your aunts?"

"They're deceased."

"Bones, I'm sorry--"

"Don't be, Booth. Death is inevitable."

"But you lost the chance to meet them, Bones. It's OK for me to say I'm sorry."

"No, Booth, it's not OK because I'm already fine with it. It's a needless apology. I've never been emotionally attached to either of those women, so there's no loss." Her face said otherwise. It said more. It said that being close to someone had a risk of pain and loss. And Booth knew it all. He stood up and hugged her gently.

But there was something... odd... about that hug. He pulled back long enough to look her in the eyes.

She pushed him away. "It's time for you to go, Booth. It's late."

He made some nervous movements, gathered his jacket and umbrella, then walked to the door where he paused. "Good night, Bones."

"Good night, Booth."

"Hey, I was--" The look she gave him stopped him in his tracks. "Night."

And that was it.

But it was the first clue that he had that somehow he was on the outside of a gigantic secret. Brennan was known for throwing up walls, but whenever she was around him, the walls crumbled--they had no chance. The mortar was weakened by a closeness that was unmatched by any other relationship either had experienced before. But what was it now that kept those walls so firmly held together? When he looked into her eyes for that moment, the levees held tight all of the deep blue secrets and openness that were welled up behind them.

And it hurt to know that that trust they had built was now gone. So he closed the door and silently walked to his hotel room.

---

The room was warm and muggy. An old fashioned metal fan whirred and tried pathetically to cool the small room.

"Nervous?" It was the only thing Hodgins could think to ask his on-again off-again girlfriend.

"No." Short. Succinct. Perhaps a tad bit perturbed.

She tapped her toe. She made a pen tumble between her manicured fingertips. She even began to count the holes in the ceiling tiles.

After a minute more, the door reopened and a short, red headed woman walked in, eyes glued to a standard green file. She took a seat. Folded her hands. Cleared her throat.

And just when Angela was going to say something she would regret, the woman spoke. "There's really nothing we can do, Miss Montenegro."

"Nothing?"

She flipped through the file once again, looked up once to eyeball Hodgins suspiciously, then said, "Ms--uh,--Thien is complying with the state's requests for her to find a home--"

"Have you even _seen _it? No child should live like that."

"Bimonthly a social worker _does _check in and everything has been fine so far, otherwise there would be a report sitting right here in this file, Miss Montenegro." Her tone was snippy.

"When was the last checkup?"

"As long as guardians are complying, there's really nothing that we can do. There's a shortage in foster parents, sometimes children sleep in our offices for days before we can find emergency care for them. Taking a child who has a home_ out of _his home is simply foolhardy."

"But I would be his foster parent, Ms Willis. _I'm_ here. _I_ love him--"

"If you loved him, then you'd be creating a relationship with him and your mother and not stirring up a bunch of trouble, Miss Montenegro. Our hands are tied. I don't mean to be rude, but the law is the law and your mother has abode by all regulations set on her by the state. I'm sorry that they don't meet _your _standards, but sometimes it's the best we can do and it's the better alternative than having another child stuck in an over crowded, under funded system."

Angela simply stared at her coldly.

The woman sighed. "I'll tell you what, Miss Montenegro. I'll put your name in his file and if there are any issues concerning his guardianship or safety, then you'll be the first we call. In the meantime, you can work on becoming a licensed foster parent. Do we have a deal?"

Again, she stared at her.

Hodgins broke the silent stare-off by whispering, "C'mon, Angie."

"Fine," Angela relented. She stood and together they left the office. "Something terrible's going to happen to him," she told Hodgins as they walked through the parking lot.

"It's not our place."

"You're right, Jack. It's _not _our place. It's _my _place. Brayden belongs to me by blood. I happen to believe in love at first sight. Sometimes it only lasts a few weeks or years, but sometimes it's meant to be forever. He's my brother. _This _is forever."

He nodded, his hands in his pockets. "Alright then. I'll help you do whatever you need to do."

"I need to get that license."

"And I'll be by your side, Angela. Every step of the way."

"Thank you." She smiled, not knowing that she would be needing that license a lot sooner than she thought.

-----------

_Thank you so dearly for the comment love! I have a rough outline and I think this story is going to be pretty amazing. :) And educational. lol. But mostly amazing. Lots of love, family, and good vibes. ;)  
_


	9. Chapter 9

When they arrived, guests were standing under the large canvas canopies and were talking idly to one another. Not a single face was familiar among them. Brennan immediately turned around, but Booth grabbed her arm.

"Bones, where you goin'?"

Instead of answering him and admitting to fear, she turned back around and straightened her skirt. He held out her arm and they walked toward the casual little wedding.

The wedding coordinator immediately found the two, having never seen either of their faces before. "Bride or groom?"

"Excuse me?"

"Are you friends of the bride or the groom?"

"We're--neither actually," Brennan said.

The woman stiffened. "We don't do the whole Wedding Crashers thing, ma'am--" Which earned her a confused look from Brennan.

"She's family," Booth said quickly.

"To--?"

"The uh--"

She narrowed her gaze. "Nice try."

"Frank Stanley is my grandfather."

Booth leaned in and whispered, "Thanks. Coulda stepped in earlier, Bones."

"You're welcome."

"Right this way," the woman grumbled and walked them to the bride's side and gestured carelessly at some seats in the back before walking away quickly.

"Wow. You pissed her off, Bones."

"I did not."

"Clearly she was pissed."

"I only said a few words to her. You conversed with her most of the time. If anything, you were the one who pissed her off." She took her seat beside a woman who was breastfeeding her infant.

Booth noticed almost immediately and kept his eyes glued forward.

Brennan smiled at the little newborn's toes which stuck out beneath fuzzy blue cotton. "How old is your baby?"

The woman smiled, "Three weeks."

She reached for his toes, but pulled back before touching the tempting little things, "Uh, he has well formed phalanges, metatarsals... cuboids... calcaneous."

"Uh--What?"

Booth leaned a little forward, just enough for the woman to hear him, "She means to say that he has cute feet."

She laughed a little, "Well, thank you."

Brennan whispered under her breath, "I meant to say that his feet are well formed."

"Then tell her that. Don't drown her in an anatomy lesson."

"How far are you?" the woman asked suddenly, cutting off the argument.

"Excuse me?"

"How far along are you?" She looked at probably the world's smallest bump that Brennan was sporting--something that could've easily occurred in any non-pregnant woman by slouching.

"I--I'm not--"

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry. Usually I can tell these things. Hormones or something. Usually I'm pretty good. I hope I didn't insult you. It's not like you look pregnant or anything--"

"It's fine."

"It is?"

"Yes."

A few more people filed into the seats and a moment later, the music was beginning.

Everyone stood.

Booth and Brennan, of course, found this to be a very good time to chat.

"Wow," Booth whispered.

"What?" she whispered back.

"You know, most girls would've clawed her eyes out."

"I'm not most girls."

"I know that. I know you better than that. Probably better than most people."

She looked at his eyes. "Booth--" Everyone took a seat except for them. "There's something--" Someone cleared her throat. They noticed they were the only ones still standing--and TALKING.

"My bad." Booth sat down. "Take a seat, Bones."

She took her seat.

---

A low fog was forming along the coast and despite the fact that it was a cool late July evening, people spoke, laughed, and drank champagne by the light of tiki torches and a full moon.

Booth felt like a third wheel, but he stood back and genially spoke with a few men about what he did while keeping an eye on Brennan whose cousin was leading her around. It was the same young mother that met her at the door and invited her to the wedding a few nights back. She was not a people person, but she always surprised Booth at how well she seemed to interact with strangers. The ease of conversation probably flowed by way of curiosity at the well-known author and interest at the fact that she was a long-lost family member.

Sophie wrapped her arm around Brennan and laughed easily. Her cheeks were dimpled and her eyes glittered. "There are a few people I want you to meet before you go today. I can't believe you found us. Honestly, Papa Stanlely... Oh, there he is. The one in the wheelchair."

Beneath a tiki torch that flickered in the cool breeze, Brennan could see her grandfather sitting, looking much like he did on that night when his daughter died, wearing a faded 5-piece pinstriped suit, b. ut his face and hair were tinged with gray and sagged. He wore a nasal cannula which helped him breathe. But his demeanor was exactly the same as it was all those years ago.

"Grandpa."

He followed his granddaughter's voice and looked up.

He didn't need an introduction. People rushed to keep him from wobbling to the ground, but he stood anyway and immediately put his hand to the face of the woman who stood before him. He grinned and wheezed a laugh, then pulled her into a hug. It took her a moment to react before she accepted his hug in return.

---

The cool night air had forced everyone to go back to their hotels and homes. Booth sat back and gave her as much time as he thought she would need, but eventually, he meandered over to his partner. She walked, bathed in the creamy moonlight, arms wrapped around herself. There were few times where he had seen her in such a thoughtful state. Doing so meant taking down portions of her walls.

She heard his footsteps before he was by her side. And she told him how her grandfather's memory was as sharp as ever.

Minutes after pulling away from the bank that day in the 70s, Kyle in the back seat, sleeping in his seat, real contractions began. On the interstate, the contractions continued. The sirens wailed in the distance. Not knowing who they were coming for, Max tore off the main road, dust billowing over their car, tires popping, shocks nonexistent, Russ enjoying the ride and laughing, Ruth trying to breathe.

"Slow down!"

"Jesus, you want them to catch us?"

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

He looked sharply over at his wife, her face contorted from the agony of labor. They reached a paved road. He turned sharply. Sirens continued to wail.

"Again! Again!" Kyle was delighted.

That story came from Ruth in a letter sent anonymously years later.

She gave birth in a small town in Maryland hours later. That was the only time that Frank Stanley saw his daughter and her family. He came into the hospital with his new wife and their daughter, Carol-Jean, ten at the time and Anna.

_"You were the most beautiful baby," the old man said, hand trembling as he held hers. _

"Isn't she perfect?" Ruth asked her dad and sisters. She took off her ring and slipped it over the baby's little fingers.

"What's that?" Carol-Jean asked.

"It's a very special ring that will be Joy's some day."

"It used to be my mom's," Anna said. "Right?"

"Right." She gazed lovingly on the tiny infant.

_"We went back home and a few years later the police found their car abandoned and covered with blood. Nothing else was found. I never--"_

_"It's OK, Papa," Sophie patted her grandfather's cheeks with a tissue._

Brennan caught her breath. He could see the moonlight reflecting off from the moisture in her eyes. "Sometimes I wonder what would it have been like to grow up with a grandmother and a grandfather--to have a normal life. Sometimes I fight feeling angry and hurt that we were deprived of those normal things for a life of crime and hiding. Is that selfish?"

He shook his head and reached for her hand. "Not selfish, Bones. Normal. Nothing's more normal than to want connections. Family. Love. You want family and belonging, Bones. I'm proud of you for looking for it. You're doing the right thing."

_The right thing._

An overwhelming sense of guilt swept over her. "Booth-- I--" The words wouldn't form.

"What?"

"I'm just glad you came."

He grinned at her in one of those sexy half-grins that he does so well. Chuckled, and interlocked his arm with hers. "C'mon. I'll take you home."

"Carol-Jean lives in Jersey. I intend on finding her."

"And I intend on being by your side."

_You're too good for me. _She smiled softly and simply enjoyed having his arm around her and a cool breeze against her warm face. Neither said a thing more, although a thousand things begged to be spoken.

-----------

_My sincerest gratitude. I hope you're enjoying this story!  
_


	10. Chapter 10

She was nine again. Tall for her age and with that endurable and wild spirit that had marked her path every step of the way, she slept with her cheek against the itchy polyester couch. The television was flickering and washing the room in a ghostly dance of colors and light. Aside from the usual sounds: cats fighting, neighbors arguing in the distance, cars rumbling in the streets.

It wasn't long before familiar sounds roused her from her sleep. Experience told her not to stir. Experience told her to squeeze her eyelids shut, pull the dusty throw pillow over her head and pretend that it wasn't there. But it hit her. She wondered if she had ever really seen what happened in the only bedroom in the little apartment. Had it all come from conjecture or from something worse?

Her stomach twisted inside of her as she walked slowly toward the bedroom.

Sounds. Noises. In a backwards world, they would've been pleasurable sounds. But in this world, they were strained. Agnozing. Fake. Faux. She knew her mother's voice well enough to know that it was another one of those veils.

Her mouth was cottony as she crept up to the door. A slit of moonlight struck out between the crack in the green blanket that was thumbtacked to the bedroom window. It slashed across the flexing bare bottom of an unknown man. Pasty white and tangled with course black hair. He caught his breath and sat on the edge of the bed.

Movements. A hushed conversation as her mother pulled a ratty black bra back on her stick-thin frame and restuffed it with mismatched socks.

A dull light from a cigarette illuminated her face. She remembered seeing her dark eyes, caked with makeup, flick her way for a second.

The girl froze, but her body wouldn't move away from the door. Not for fear of being beaten. Not for fear of seeing something she didn't want to remember.

Her mother blew the hot smoke from her lungs and threw a tee shirt at the fat man beside her. "Get out."

"How's that for beside manner?" He asked.

"It's a transaction."

He laughed humorlessly. "I love you, too."

"Love only exists in movies. Now get the hell out." Next his jeans were thrown at him.

The door opened wide. Again, the girl couldn't move. The man pulled on his zipper and simply looked at her and walked out the door.

Her eyes followed his exit.

"Go back to bed, Lien," her mother said, closing the door in her face.

On the other side, the doorbell rang.

The door bell rang.

The door bell rang.

The door bell rang.

Angela tore herself awake to glance at the clock, threw on a robe and somehow had sense enough to peep through the peephole.

"Hodgins? What are you doing here? It's 2 AM."

He grinned at her and walked in. "I couldn't sleep."

She laughed and pointed at the hot cup of coffee in his hand. "That couldn't help matters."

He smiled and took a deep breath in. His demeanor grew serious. "Listen, Angela. I wanted to give you time, but I just--I can't wait any longer without knowing."

He followed her into the kitchen where she began to brew coffee for herself. Then she leaned on the wall next to where he stood.

"And what exactly did you come to hear?"

"I asked you a few months ago, Angie, if--hinted, actually," he smiled nervously, "if you wanted us to be more."

"Hodgins--"

"I know you feel it. I feel it, too. Whenever we're near, Angela. Whenever--"

"Jack. Sometimes I wonder if our time passed." She wondered if she could believe her own words, let alone if Hodgins would buy it.

He began to shake his head when the phone rang.

"Who would call at 2 in the morning?"

"I have no idea, but I should take this." It only took the first few words from the caller's mouth to send a cold chill through her body, mixed with terrible memories. A cold concoction of nightmares, real and present.

"Angela?"

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

"What's going on?"

She slammed the phone on the counter and threw on shoes sans socks and an old sweatshirt. "Brayden," was all she could say before she was out of the door.

---

How could she feel like she was running in mud but a drop hadn't spilled from the skies in weeks?

The social worker met her at entrance of the E.R., also dressed in her pajamas, but with a serious looking blazer that covered most of the frivolous Garfield logo.

"Angela Montenegro?"

"Where's Brayden?" The wind whipped at her hair angrily, cooling her throbbing migraine as Hodgins squeeled into a parking space yards behind her.

"There are some considerations before I release that information."

"_What _considerations?"

"Legally, Brayden Devlin is a ward of the state. To say anything about his current condition, you would have to be a registered foster--"

"I'm his _sister_. Doesn't that say _anything_? I'm working toward the license. I'm one class short."

The woman cleared her throat softly. "I've been a child advocate for children in the system for going on fifteen years. The truth is, I've only run into a few family members who have fought as hard as you have. Why don't you follow me?"

They followed the social worker to a little room inside of the E.R. They pulled back the curtain. A doctor was squatting in front of the little boy, who was curled in the corner sucking his thumb and naked, holding out a red sucker for the child.

"Num, num. Want it?"

The boy said nothing. Didn't move.

One glance and Angela's heart was torn from her. On his face was a half moon shaped mark that was like a large swollen pomegranate. Besides the left side of his thin little face, there was hardly an inch that wasn't bruised or battered.

"Oh, God," she whispered, her legs feeling weak beneath her and tears growing in her eyes.

"Emergency care is full," the social worker said. "If he didn't go home with you, then he would have to come home with me, so-- You're really just doing me a favor."

Hodgins could tell that she was really saying that she would bend the rules for them, but fudge the facts on the paperwork. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me. You're just doing me a favor, that's all."

Angela crossed to the little boy as the doctor stood and handed her the sucker. "This might help."

She took the sucker from his hands as the social worker and he filled out paperwork.

Angela squatted near him.

He looked so small. So crumpled. No child should ever look like that. No child should feel like they're in captivity when their life has only begun.

"Do you want to go home with me tonight?"

"I've got spare rooms to spare," Hodgins offered.

Angela heard his words, but kept her eyes on Brayden.

"I think I've got Finding Nemo somewhere. Do you like Nemo?"

No response.

"Thomas the Engine?"

He shook his head and buried it behind toddler arms. Only the top of his overgrown silky black hair could be seen.

After a moment, the hair began to shiver as he cried.

She fell softly to her bottom and scooted closer, wrapping her arm around his stiff body. He stiffened as she touched his bruises.

Angela quickly searched her suppressed childhood memories for something that would be familiar to him. A lullaby bubbled swiftly to the surface. The tune was quick to bubble, but the words were slower to come. "_Shi... shi shang zhi... you ma ma hao...you ma de hai... hai zi xiang ge bao..._"

The boy sniffled and softened into her touch.

"I thought you didn't speak Chinese." Hodgins whispered.

She smiled slyly as Brayden began to drift to sleep in her arms, "Who said that was Chinese? You're mistaken. That was _Russian_."

----------------

_The song is "Mama Hao" and it is a Chinese lullaby._

_Thanks for the response!!!!_


	11. Chapter 11

Hodgins put the coffee grounds away, pressing the tin lid back onto the can before setting the coffee to brew. He walked upstairs and stood in the doorway for several minutes.

When Brayden had finally fallen asleep, she carefully maneuvered so that she didn't disturb him, then found her way to the doorway.

Hodgins smiled at her. "He's gonna be OK, Angela," he whispered.

Usually that kind of comment would earn an "I know", but Angela frowned at him. "You don't know that, Hodgins."

"What?"

"You don't know that. No offense, Jack, but you don't know what he's been through."

"Look, Ange--"

"Don't, Jack." He pushed past him and walked into the bedroom down the hall.

His hand blocked the door as she pushed it closed.

"Jack..."

"What happened?"

"For once, I don't feel like talking about it. I don't feel like giving or receiving advice. I just want to wash my face and fall into bed."

"Angela. You're right. I don't know what he went through, but you do. You've been there. If anyone knows, it's you."

She wiped a tear away that slipped down her cheek. Then her eyes met Hodgins'. "When I was nine, my mom brought home a guy. Then she passed out. She was high as a kite. And he was all alone with me."

"Angela--"

"After that, my dad fought for me. I can't be the one who doesn't fight for Brayden. I don't know where I'd be today if my dad didn't fight for me. I've got to be that person, Jack."

He nodded, at a loss for words. At a loss for comforting words. What does one say?

"Good night, Hodgins."

"Night, Ange."

Then he was alone in the hallway. And she was alone in the room with nothing but terrible, unearthed memories.

---

She thought she was alone. That's why she had her headphones in and the volume was as high as it could go. She was bent over a desk, tapping her toes, and everyone in the lab could hear her singing--except for herself.

"Cam. Cam. CAM!" Booth reached out.

She turned, startled, and took out the headphones.

"Hi. Seeley."

"Everyone can hear you, Cam. The whole lab."

Her eyes grew a bit wider.

"Yup. Whole lab. Brought you these."

"New case?"

"Something to tide us over."

She flipped through the report. "Booth, these remains are 40 years old."

"Yeah."

Her eyes grew wider to emphasize her point: "Exactly. You should be giving this report to Dr. Brennan. I'm not your maid, Seeley. Go do it yourself." She bent absently back over the computer.

Booth didn't shoo as she expected. He sat on the edge of the desk.

She sighed.

"What do you want?"

He scrunched his nose. "Bones has been acting weird."

"No surprise there..."

"Really?"

She straightened, realizing her slip. "Uh... no. Just... _what_?"

"Huh?"

"Who?"

"Not gonna play twenty questions with you, Camille."

"Then why'd you start? You know I'm competitive."

"Think you can give these to Bones for me?"

She sighed audibly and snatched the report from him. "She's going to wonder why you didn't give them to her yourself."

"Bones doesn't do that whole girl thing."

She rolled her eyes and put her headphones back in, then handed the report back to Booth. "I'm busy."

Angela watched as he disappeared into Brennan's office. She pulled a headphone out of her boss's ear, "What's up with them?"

"My suspicion is that Dr. Brennan has that big appointment coming up and the guilt of not telling Booth that he's her babydaddy is eating her up inside."

---

Booth knocked lightly, then let himself in. "Bones. Got a case for you. Oh! What's that?"

Brennan quickly tucked away the item.

"C'mon, Bones. Let me see."

"No." She snatched the papers from Booth and shuffled through them. "Just have them bring it in."

He wandered nonchalantly over to her, under the guise of looking over her shoulder, "Yes, ma'am." Then he snatched the little bag from her hand, reached inside, and saw-- He shook it next to his ear. "A baby rattle?"

"It's a gift."

"For?"

"None of your business." She snatched it back.

"You're mad at me."

"No."

"But I can't place it. Did I touch one of your skeletons? Screw up evidence? Order your the wrong thing--it was that martini, wasn't it? You didn't touch it last night... actually, you haven't been touching _any _of the drinks I order you--"

She stood up quickly, putting on her lab jacket. "I read a recent study about how damaging even a little bit of alcohol can be on the liver. I'm just being conscientious."

"Of what? A good time?" He followed her into the lab, where everyone who knew Dr. Brennan's secret listened carefully. "Drinks on me-- Metaphorically, although... if you wanna do _literal_--"

She turned sharply around.

"A joke, Bones. C'mon. You used to just ignore those little wisecracks."

"Well, maybe I need to be more serious."

"No, Bones. You don't. You don't have to be _more _serious. You're serious enough for all of us."

They stopped about a millimeter away from where Daisy Wick and Sweets were standing.

Their eyes bore into Booth's head. Booth and Brennan looked at them.

Daisy grinned and nodded enthusiastically, "It's true, Dr. Brennan. I feel way more serious around you. It's like a _miracle _drug!"

"Good to know," Booth replied. Then he steered Brennan away to a slightly more private venue--although everyone still listened intently. "Bones, what's gotten into you?"

She wiggled free of his arm. "Nothing. I just want to focus on the lab, Booth. I've been gallivanting--"

"Gallivanting?"

"_Yes_. Gallivanting about, and I came up empty handed. I've wasted precious time where I could've gotten ahead. I'm ready to buckle down."

"Gotten ahead? Bones. It's LIMBO. People die CONSTANTLY. You can _never _get ahead down there. Drinks doesn't slow down the criminal justice system, it keeps those cogs nice and slick."

By then, she was inspecting the body that had been laid on the table. "More metaphor?"

"You got it, Bones. Founding Fathers. You and me. Tonight."

"I'm busy tonight."

Booth took a few steps closer. "You're not going out with that Chuck person, right?"

She looked at him curiously. "Chuck? Who?"

"Good answer, Bones." He spun around and walked out of the lab.

Angela and Cam were quickly on Brennan's heels.

"Sweetie, you haven't told him yet?"

"I'm waiting for the right time."

"I hate to say it, Dr. Brennan, but Booth deserves to know. It's his biological right."

"Mr. Nigel-Murray, go ahead and go over these remains. I'll be in my office." She took off her gloves and looked at Cam and Angela. "Mind your own business, please."

When she was out of sight, Cam sighed. "She's impossible."

Daisy piped up, "I think she's _amazing_."

"Put a cork in it, Miss Wick."

---

_Thank you all!!!_


	12. Chapter 12

An unusual heat wave swept through the North East that year. Combine the heat and humidity with nausea and lower backaches and you could say very easily that it was an uncomfortable drive to the small New Jersey home that belonged to Carol-Jean. The house was a small brick building at the end of a long country street that was almost untouched by modern conveniences. Aside from tracks in the road from cars driving through a few times a day, it gave one a feeling that you were as far from civilization as one could possibly get in New Jersey.

She pulled into the driveway, which consisted of two long and narrow strips of concrete, in between which grew vibrant green grass, dappled here and there by dandelions and little white wild daisies. She noticed no cars in the little green carport and the curtains were pulled closed against the heat of the midday sun.

For a moment--a split second--she considered turning back and driving back to D.C., but instead, for reasons yet to be known, she continued up the walk and knocked without hesitation on the friendly white front door.

Nobody answered, so she turned back down the walk to her car and that is when her cell phone rang. She answered it and began to walk slower.

"Sweetie?"

"Hi, Angela."

"Hi. I have a quick favor to ask you. I want you to think it over first before you tell me what your answer is, though, OK?"

"OK," this was spoken _with _hesitation.

"I need references for the foster parenting thing and I'd really love it if you could--"

"Of course."

"Really? Because, I know that--"

"Angela. I don't know why you'd think that my answer would be anything but yes. I'll write it up and have it on your desk by tomorrow."

"Thank you." She breathed a sigh of relief. She never actually did doubt that Brennan would say yes, but somehow that thought had wormed its way into her mind and fear had dug its claws in. Everything was on the line and it was nice to know that she wasn't alone in all of this. Besides, after the home study, there were more things to worry about besides referrals. Not two seconds after her apartment was checked out was it determined that nothing was up to code and everything was well below par. Her home was not suitable for a ward of the state to reside in. That was the first downfall she had come across to having a rent-controlled apartment thus far.

"Is everything OK, Ange?"

"Yeah. Uh... everything's just fine, sweetie. I'll talk to you later, OK?"

The call was disconnected and just as Brennan stuck the cell phone back into her pocket, the screen door of the little cottage swung open and sweet wrinkled face with eyes that were as lively and young as when she was twenty peeped out. "You want somethin'?"

The voice took her off guard, so she reached for her chest unconsciously.

"My--My name is Temperance Brennan--"

The door opened wider and the woman walked out a little, "Is that the truth? I just read one of your novels. Yeah. Yeah, I see it. Looks just like that photo from the back cover. Would you like to come in? I have iced tea. Hope you don't mind it with no sweetener. Just he way my granny made it."

"Please."

Brennan followed her into a modest little living area with an old fashioned blue couch with four slender legs, a braided rug, a fireplace that most likely crackled warmly in the winter, and a blue-geese china motif. It was all not too unordinary at first as Brennan sat in the living room waiting for a cool glass of ice tea, but after a few seconds items from the shelves and bookstands began to leap out to her. Metaphorically, of course. A small porcelain finger bowl was the first item to stand out to her.

Immediately she was twelve again.

Her parents had been arguing. They were a loving couple, true, but every couple has moments like that where they just get at each other's throats. To believe otherwise would be naive. "Just because we fight, doesn't mean that we don't love each other," her mother had told her. "Sometimes, quite the opposite."

The fight escalated. Russ and left to get away and Temperance had sat in the living room with headphones on her head and Kacy Kacem turned up as loud as possible. They were like mimes--swinging their arms and gesturing, but all without voices. Eventually, Max left the house, leaving her mother in the kitchen where Temperance could see her. That was the first time she remembered seeing her mom cry like that. Usually when Max and Christine fought, they tried to do it in the bedroom and away from the kids, but that time she could see everything.

Temperance stood and walked over to her mom, unsure of how she should comfort her mother. She was upset, she could see that, but when it came to expressing that she was sorry for her mother's sadness or trying to comfort her, she was at a loss. So, she stood there, three feet from her mother and didn't say anything. Eventually, Christine looked up, and noticing her daughter, she simply and silently embraced her. Over her mom's shoulder is where she saw the little finger bowl on the shelf. The same finger bowl that was on her aunt's shelf. It was possible, of course, that they were only duplicates and not the _exact _bowl, but there were other items that brought back memories in the room: a little frame, a braided rug, a little statuette. Each one brought with it a new and forgotten memory--each more precious than the last because they were of a woman who she could never make _new _memories with. A woman who... who would never meet her granddaughter.

Brennan touched her stomach. It wouldn't be long before her clothing would be too tight to wear and buying new sizes would only trick Booth for so long. Keeping such a secret from him was terribly unrealistic. She decided that it would be that night that she would tell Booth.

Her aunt returned and took a seat. She handed the glass of tea to Brennan. "Now, how can I help you, honey? Are you OK? Have you been crying? What for?"

Brennan told her everything that she knew. Of her mother, her grandfather and everything that followed.

Carol-Jean nodded. "That's quite a story." She stood. "I would love to have you again sometime. Next week is my granddaughter's birthday and I would be more than honored to have you attend."

---

Hodgins was surprised to see Angela walking past him as he walked up to her apartment building with boxes in hand--boxes piled so high that she could hardly see where she was going. He startled her by taking the boxes from her. "Angela, what are you doing?"

Angela took a breath. "I have to move. The apartment isn't up to code and social services won't let me get my foster parenting license--"

"I could pay for upgrades--"

"I only have until Friday. There's no way they could replace the wiring and fixtures and God knows what else in two days."

"Where are you moving?"

She shrugged helplessly, "I have no idea."

"Well--move in with me."

She sort of half-laughed, "Hodgins, that--We've already done that."

"What other choice do you have, Ange? They won't let you keep Brayden if you're living out of your car. Just stay with me. You can have the upstairs, I can have the downstairs--or Zack's place."

"Where I can't see the main house from all of the tennis courts and ponds?"

"The main house is just as nice. Plenty of room. Please. C'mon, Angie, don't make me beg."

She laughed, "It _has _been a while since you've begged me to go home with you."

"That's the spirit. Now let me help you with these boxes."

Hodgins took the boxes to the moving truck. What was he getting himself into? Everything wonderful. Everything awful. Everything that he'd dreamed of. It was obvious to God and everyone that he was still in love with her--MADLY. And to be able to see her every day--maybe in her nightgown, when her hair is down and her make up is off and she's in an old tee shirt with her long legs and nothing more-- He was nuts. He was insane. But insanity makes us do crazy things, especially for the ones we love.

------------------------

_I'm sorry it's been so long. It really is unintentional. I have written and scrapped at least four chapters since. None of it was right. But this chapter was nice enough to share. I hope you all think the same. :)_


	13. Chapter 13

Anxiety. Impatience. Worry. Sadness. Fear. That is the theme for today's chapter. Every one of us, no matter how privileged or how penniless we are, go through times like this. Times where we feel there is no hope. Times where we are forced to wonder... hope... believe.

And for some of us... pray.

I think we all know which of the two friends were praying that day. Outside of an old gray office door with the stickered-name and initials peeling from a door, Angela found herself praying. She had never been much of a prayer. Life had blown by her in so many ways and colors and themes that she never found time to pray most days. And to be honest, she never really found a reason for it. But unlike her "BBF", she was not one to shun the practice. So she prayed. She watched as Brayden sat with a group of other children his age at the office with worn out third-hand toys.

Something was different about him, but a part of her refused to believe it. One second he played with a little Latina girl with brown pigtails, the next he lashed out at her and threw a tantrum which she had to quickly assuage and mediate. A few soothing words and a firm reprimand and Brayden was once again playing nicely. His attention span was short. He was anxious around groups. When more children came into the waiting room, he began to cry until Angela held him and he calmed. Brayden was released to play with the girl who, although at least a year and a half older, was at least a half a foot taller.

Again, Angela prayed. Earlier that morning, she had received a call as she was in her office sketching the face of a Jane Doe. Nothing more was said over the phone than, "I'd like to schedule a meeting with you today, Miss Montenegro. How's three for you? Yes?" but the woman's voice was strained. Perhaps she had been working all day with no relief? Or could it be bad news? Could it be the strain of delivering bad news? Was her mother getting Brayden back?

She quickly suppressed that worry. She focused again on the little boy who had become such a bright part of her day. In him she saw herself at that age. In him she saw someone who needed love. _She_ could give that love.

"Angela?" the secretary asked. "You can go in now."

She picked up Brayden.

Another memory slipped by like a soft muslin curtain in a summer breeze. It was such a sweet memory, but looking back on it, she realized how twisted things were.

She was five and was sitting on the edge of the street while her parents fought. She didn't know that the next time they fought, her father would leave and she would be left alone for four terrible years with her mother.

The screen door snapped shut with a screech and a smack. Her father stalked by and sat on his Harley. He looked over his sunglasses at her and winked, his blue eyes twinkling, letting her know, without any words, that he loved her. Then he rode down the street. The memory was choppy and blurred, but the next thing she remembered was sitting on the stoop with her mom who was smoking a Camel. She passed the cigarette to her daughter. Angela took it with clumsy fingers. It was some sick rite of passage, but neither knew any better.

Mei-Fen took the cigarette back and breathed into the sunset. Angela remembered wondering, at age five, if some day she would be able to find out where the sunset got its colors.

Walking into the office in present-day Washington D.C., Angela sat in front Miss Willis who was taking a call as Brayden struggled for freedom. Just shy of a fall-out, Angela released him to deconstruct the social worker's office.

"Brayden, stop it."

"Sorry about that. I had to take that call."

"What did you want to talk about?" Angela kept her eyes on the busy little boy whose energy was explosive and implosive.

Miss Willis nodded sorrowfully, "I--I received a call from Arnold Thomas, who represents Travis Devlin, Brayden's biological father. By law, for foster children to be released for adoption, we must contact all blood relatives, especially parents, unless of course their rights have been terminated by the state, as in the case of Mei-Fan..." She paused. Angela found herself annoyed with Miss Willis and her dramatic flair. "Mr. Devlin has requested to be awarded full custody of Brayden. I'm very sorry, Angela."

"What?" Every drop of blood in her body drained and what was left chilled and crystallized. Fear was the primary emotion. Who was this man? Who was Travis Devlin? Who would have a child with an ex-prostitute-slash-drug addict, then leave his child with that woman and still believe that he had a chance to be a proper protector and provider and... and... _father_? "No. No. No! You can't do this. They can't do this!"

"Of course he will have to be checked out as per the usual. Background check, that sort of thing. But as the biological parent of Brayden, he does have... dibs, so to speak."

"Dibs?" She couldn't believe it. This little boy was going to be torn from her arms. This little boy was going into the arms and the house of strangers. And she could do nothing to stop it. "I have to fight for him."

"By all means. But I'm just warning you that you will most likely lose if his record is clean and he has any chance at raising him."

Angela shook her head. No more words could come. She wanted to cry, but instead she found that she just wanted to leave from that place. She wanted to escape. She stood and took Brayden into her arms. He kicked and cried, but she said nothing. She just took him.

Who knew how much longer she would have with him?

Twelve hours.

Twelve hours later, his little blue outfits, his little baseball caps, his little sneakers and toys were all packed neatly with disbelief into a tiny suitcase.

Then, when he was gone, Hodgins held her. She was glad that she hadn't told Brennan yet. She would try to be comforting, but somehow she wouldn't understand. Hodgins let her cry. So, she did. She let out anguished sobs and let her body shake with mournful cries. He didn't say anything. He didn't tell her that it would all be OK... because he couldn't promise that. The only thing he promised was to be there for her every step of the way. And so he held her and said nothing.

And when she finally fell asleep, he carried her into his bedroom and laid her down. She woke up as soon as he laid her down and said, "Stay with me."

He turned off the light and crawled into bed. He held her hand and let sleep come to them.

---

Days passed and joy was once again on the horizon. It teetered like plates being spun on a pole. The 'big appointment' was coming up and it was time for another wardrobe upgrade. It wouldn't be long before elastic waistbands were a necessity and she knew it. Every day she wondered how she would tell him.

They pulled up to Carol-Jean's place. Booth peeked over his sunglasses, "Nice place."

"She enjoys gardening, so she has said. You can park there. Between the Taurus and the Honda."

"Back-seat driving again, Bones. I know how to drive."

"I wasn't telling you how to drive and besides, I'm in the front seat, not the back seat."

"I'm just saying, Bones, I know how to drive. I've been driving since I was sixteen. I know how to drive."

"You're too close."

"Shh."

"Booth, it's too narrow for your gas-guzzler."

"Zip it, Bones."

"Booth!"

"Bones!"

"Booth!"

"Do you wanna drive? Do you wanna drive?"

"Yes! Yes, I would!"

"See? I told you I could park this thing. I've parked in a lot tighter places than this."

Brennan got out and slammed the door. She surveyed for a moment. "You parked crooked."

He narrowed his gaze at her. "That's enough from you."

On that day, she wore a dress. A dress that would show a little bit of her protruding belly. Thanks to eating well, exercising, and being relatively tall, she wasn't showing much at all, but she was hoping that this would help the cause anyway.

Carol-Jean met her on the porch. People were talking and drinking lemonade under the tents in the yard. Children were laughing and playing tag between the adults. A few were annoyed, but most of the adults were enjoying the gaiety of the atmosphere and chose to say nothing.

"This is my partner Seeley Booth. This is my aunt, Carol-Jean."

The woman smiled and took Booth's hand, "Kids these days. When I was a girl, it was 'beau', then it morphed into 'boyfriend' and finally 'partner' is now the fashionable word. Well, tomato tomato, that's what I say."

"I thought it was tomato potat--"

"Bones," he cut her off. "Nice to meet you, Carol-Jean."

She smiled. "Bones. Alright, then." She snagged a girl who was running past her. "Hold it there, Holly. This is the birthday girl, Holly Hobby."

"Grandmaaaaaaaaaaaaaa..."

"Hobby isn't really her last name," Carol-Jean winked at Booth.

Booth nodded knowingly.

Brennan was confused.

"Holly, honey, these are my friends. This is actually your... your cousin... second cousin I think... Temperance. And this is her 'partner'--" she winked again, "Seeley. Say, 'How do you do?'"

The little girl curtseyed uncomfortably, "How do you do?" Then she whispered audibly to her grandma, "Nobody does that any more."

"Go along now." The little girl ran away in a blur of yellow and blonde. "Come along and I'll show you around. I'll introduce you to my daughter Amelia, her husband Frank, their kids: Justice, Alex, and of course you've already met Holly, then there's little Catriona--I think that's Irish or something, we're just a little bit Irish, but it's a trend... Then there's..."

Brennan grabbed Booth's arm and kept him back just as her aunt was out of ear-shot, "There's something I need to say."

"Can it wait?"

"I'm with child."

"You're what?"

"Pregnant."

To her surprise, he didn't react in any of the ways she had imagined. He didn't laugh nervously. He didn't accuse her of having a secret relationship. He didn't... he didn't do _anything_!

"Uh..." He sighed. And he nodded. He didn't look into her eyes. He put his hands in his pockets. Then he walked off toward Carol-Jean as she was introducing them to 'Lester'.

Brennan ran up beside him, "You're not going to say anything?" she whispered.

"Not now. Not the time," he whispered back. "Nice to meet you."

Lester laughed and introduced his family, then pointed to a few of his grandsons, then they were corralled into another meeting.

Meeting after meeting after meeting. Grandsons, granddaughters, nieces, nephews. And throughout it all, Booth avoided saying anything personal to Brennan. Sure he asked her if she needed to take a seat or needed anything to drink several times, but for the most part the light-hearted banter was gone.

The drive back after the party was even more painful. He didn't say anything. When she spoke to him, he didn't say anything more than what was the bare minimum requirement to say.

In all of it, she was so bewildered that she didn't even think to tell him the rest of the story... that the child was his.

She mentioned that her appointment was in a couple of days. The ultrasound appointment was coming up. He seemed surprised that she was that far along--he remembered Rebecca's pregnancy with Parker. He remembered where each of the milestones lay. He gritted his teeth at this news and muttered a congratulations to her. She didn't ask if he would be there. Somehow she thought that he still wouldn't be talking to her by then.

And she was right.

------------------------------

_Again, thank you all so much!!!! :D_


	14. Chapter 14

She was alone. Nothing unusual. She had been alone on many occasions—In that case, her entire life was such an occasion. But somehow it hurt. It hurt to know that she was alone for _this_ occasion.

Earlier that day, she was in the lab with Cam.

Once or twice, she tried to speak. Speaking of such matters were difficult, to say the least. At last , Cam asked for calipers. Those were the first words she had said to Brennan in several days. Sure, they had had their rough times, but it was clear that Camille Saroyan was one to demand respect and earn respect. She was also one who, when she respected you, it was something to feel good about. But lately, Brennan felt that connection of mutual and professional respect slipping.

She handed Cam the calipers and said bluntly, "You're angry with me."

"Not right now, Dr. Brennan."

"I intend on telling Booth soon. It's just difficult to know the right words to say."

Cam looked at Brennan sideways. She sighed. "It's not that hard. Just open your mouth, Dr. Brennan." She turned sharply. "Of course I'm not mad at you. It's none of my business."

That was the end of that conversation.

But apparently Cam was somehow still angry at her, despite her words. Going through the conversation as she sat in the waiting room drinking a ridiculous amount of water, Brennan could not figure it out. Cam's tone was sharp, angry, biting… but the words she said contradicted her tone.

She chose to ask Cam later about it.

"Temperance Brennan?" The nurse smiled at her. "Hi Temperance. You wanna come in and have a sit? We'll get started. You drink all your water? Bet you're hurtin' to pee. We won't be too long. You can go in, change into this. You can leave on your panties, of course. This ain't that kinda exam. Just gonna check on your little one. You turn in your insurance stuff to the front desk? Sure. Good. K. Go on in there, change and you can come on out. Your tech's gonna be in in no time flat."

Alone at last, all worries about Cam not speaking to her, Angela being unable to be there for her, and Booth still not talking to her was washed over by the tremendous pain of a full bladder which could not be relieved.

"Hi, I'm Casey," the ultrasound tech greeted her as she exited the little bathroom and sat on the edge of the little cot and made herself comfortable.

"Temperance."

She smiled, "I've only heard that name once before—well, besides eighth grade history on the Puritans and stuff. Sorry, this is going to be a little cold." She squirted the gel onto her abdomen. "Were you interested in finding out the baby's gender today?"

She hadn't really thought about that. Every thought about the baby was overshadowed by thoughts of Booth. "No," she said, deciding that it somehow wouldn't be right without Booth's permission or insight, however irrational the thought was.

"That'll be exciting. Not a lot of people opt out. Looks like this little guy's a squirmer. If he could just hold still…" she was silent for several seconds as she began measuring the fetal long bones. "Looks good…" Then she began to measure the infant's tiny head. Her bedside manner was indeed lacking as she pressed into Brennan's full bladder with unexpected strength. Brennan gritted her teeth. She had felt worse pain before. But did she have to push so hard?

"Looks like you chose the right thing. There's no way I'd be able to see any boy or girl parts. This kid's a gymnast in the making."

She continued to quietly measure and check out the body parts.

For some reason, it seemed as if she was taking longer than she ought to have. Her mind was muddied with thoughts of the pain in her bladder, the baby, Booth… But did she expect what would come next?

"Hm," Casey said at last. She then pulled back her hair roughly, then continued to measure in silence.

"Is everything alright?"

She didn't reply. She didn't know what to say quite yet. Then she stood. "I'll be right back. Nothing to worry about, so… Do—do you have anyone you can call?"

Numbly, Brennan found herself shaking her head. Who to call? Max? Her brother? Booth? Obviously, she should call her dad. Her dad! Had she even told him about the baby yet?

Casey left the room leaving Brennan to feel a million things. Fear. Shock. Loneliness.

With clumsy fingers, she texted the last person she wrote with three words: "I need you."

A doctor in white who looked like he had just come in off from the nearby Pediatric Unit walked in with an intern at his heels. He smiled stiffly. A stiff friendliness and a painted smile. "I'm Dr. Westcott. Nice to meet you. I'm just going to have a look-see. Why don't you lay back."

She complied and let the doctor move around the wand on her stomach. She was too afraid to look again at the little face on the monitor. Too afraid.

"Sorry if my hands are cold," he said, eyes not leaving the monitor.

The doctor tapped the screen and whispered to his colleague. At the tapping sound, Brennan looked over and saw something she didn't expect to see. A perfect little skull as the wand wandered away from the point of interest. Perfect little zygomatic arches. Perfect little nasal bridge… Add a little flesh, a little hair, and several years… and she was looking at somebody very familiar. Somebody who, when she was alone at night, she believed she felt very strongly for.

A tear slipped onto the pillow case. With that one look, she wasn't pregnant with a faceless fetus. She was pregnant with her child. Booth's child.

She slapped the tear away.

Again, she was in the waiting room, holding a little black and white strip of photos. Always of the face. Why just the face? Just as everything felt cold, she heard a familiar gate. She didn't even have to look up or hear his voice to know that it was him. To know who belonged to that gate.

"Bones, what's wrong? Are you OK?" He took a seat beside her, his eyes falling to the pictures in her hand. "Is that—Is that your baby?"

"Booth, I'm sorry that I've been…"

"No apologies, Bones. God, when I got your text, I don't know—It freaked me out. I thought the worst. You're OK then? Why'd you text me?"

Knowing that the doctors in that office may have held the fate for the child inside of her and knowing that time was indeed of the essence; she knew she only had one choice. It wasn't graceful or poetic. It was clumsy and prosaic. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, Booth. You deserved to hear the truth from the very beginning."

"You were scared."

"Yes, but I've never lied to you before. Not—not really."

"And I believe it. Bones, what are you getting at? I've forgiven you. Don't even worry about it. You were scared and I know you've never really wanted kids…"

"I have."

"You… have?"

"I have."

"Since when?" He looked at her as one might expect an unsuspecting camper might look at Sasquatch.

"You—You don't remember anything, do you?" She took this in for a second. "I once told you that I wanted a child. Right before your surgery."

He began laughing nervously.

"And you did exactly that."

"Bones, it's not April anymore."

"I don't see what the date has anything to do with what I'm telling you."

"Never mind."

"And I told you that I wanted you to be the father of my child."

He was silent. For a long time. "You've gotta be kidding me." He stood up abruptly.

"What?"

"Talk about irony. I don't remember us—y'know…"

"Getting a checkup?"

"That's kinky, Bones. Whatever you wanna call it."

"You mean _sex_?"

"I get a tumor and I don't even—This is cruel," he said to the sky.

Brennan looked up as well and studied the ceiling until Booth closed the distance on her.

"Why didn't you tell me? I mean, you knew I didn't remember anything. I thought we were closer than that."

"Booth, I asked you to _donate_ your semen."

"And I _agreed_?" Then he whispered, "Somebody pinch me…. Yow, Bones! What was that for?"

"I thought…"

"No, you didn't… What the--??? Jeezus, Bones."

She watched silently as he paced. Before he could make the final round, the doctor came into the waiting room. He looked at Booth, "Could we--?"

"He's my partner."

Booth's lips tightened. He obviously wasn't pleased with her.

The doctor took a seat. He held several papers in his hand as he spoke to the pair who sat across from him. The serious look on his face made both Booth and Brennan keep their peace.

"So, you're the father?"

"Yeah. I'm the father," Booth said curtly.

"When Casey was doing your exam, she noticed some abnormalities. Things that we don't normally see on a routine ultrasound. Have you… Have you been cramping, bleeding…?"

"No."

"No, I wouldn't expect that. Anyway, when Casey asked me to look at your ultrasound, I was quickly able to see what she saw. It was blatantly obvious. What your child has is called an omphalocele."

Brennan sucked in air sharply, recognizing the word almost immediately.

"What?" Booth asked. "What is it?"

"An omaphalocele is a defect in the abdominal wall. Basically, there's a –a herniation of the contents of abdomen, which protrude onto the base of the umbilicus."

Booth looked to Brennan for translation. He knew it was bad. The picture forming in his mind was so horrifying that he was hoping that Brennan would not look as terrified as he felt. To his dismay, she was as she always is when facing a great and painful torrent. She was sitting very still, her eyes glassy with tears.

He reached for her hand, which she squeezed back tightly.

"In laymen's terms, the contents of your child's abdomen are outside of her little body…"

"Her?" Booth asked.

"I--I use that pronoun loosely."

"Does… does this mean surgeries?" He could feel his voice weaker than he'd ever heard it before. One minute, he had one child, the next he had two and one of them was in danger. And he was powerless to stop it. Powerless to relieve the pain of his partner. Powerless to save his child.

"I'd like a second opinion," Brennan whispered.

"Of course. I'll recommend you."

"What does this mean?" Booth asked.

"If your child makes it to full term, I'd give him… or her… a ten percent chance of survival. Expect NICU stays, illnesses… and God forbid, heartbreak. I hate to paint such a bleak picture for you, but I have to tell you the truth. I can't let you have false hope. Very few of these children survive the first few days after they're born. Infections. Hemorrhaging. Failure to thrive." He was silent as he let the news sink in. Booth held her hand tightly. "Just… pray."

"I don't…"

"I'll pray for the both of us, Bones," he whispered to her.

Brennan nodded. Tears filled her eyes and overflowed.

He reached up and wiped them from her cheek.

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_Thanks again for reading. :) And FYI, I really do put up chapters as fast as I can. I don't want to put up sub-par chapters. If you'd like, you can come back and read at the end of the summer. My goal is to finish this story by then. Actually, I MUST finish by then. I have no choice, as I'll be a full time mom, student, and blogger in the autumn. No room for fanfiction. This will probably be my last fanfiction story for a very long time. _


	15. Chapter 15

Weeks passed. Brennan's pregnancy was progressing as normally as it could. Everything was normal from the outside, but tests and appointments would soon become a daily occurrence. For now, though, things cooled down for her. We'll get to their story soon enough, though.

In that time, Angela had decided to fight. She was not one to sit back and let the world storm around her without trying to erect a roof. The struggle to erect that roof might have been more difficult if it wasn't for the fact that the man she was living with... and slowly getting very comfortable with--by way of late night talks, walks in the cool night in bare feet, playful swims, and moonlit dinners on the veranda-- had a team of lawyers to call on at any time of the day.

She did not want to cry to him and ask for his help, but when the pain of losing the little boy she had grown so fond of had become too painful to bear--when she realized that she hadn't slept more than twenty hours in one week and was crying herself to sleep on the nights that she had, she finally let her defenses down. Isn't it funny that she was always telling her best friend to offer up a little of herself to others and she couldn't do that very thing for herself?

It's a very different situation when you're in that place.

She couldn't sleep, so she wrapped a cool satin robe around her shoulders and found her way to the moonlit walk that led down to the pond. She didn't realize that Hodgins was still awake until she realized that he had followed her down to the waters and sat beside her.

"Can't sleep?"

He knew the answer, so she asked, "Did I wake you up?"

He shook his head, "Mm-mm, no." Silence filled the space between them. Then he asked, "What's on your mind, Angie?"

"I can't... I can't do this any more, Hodgins. This waiting game. It's killing me. Knowing that he's-- It's like getting hit with a wiffle-bat each time by some hairy bouncer called Knuckles. I just... I can't sit back any longer. I have to fight for him."

"You have no rights..."

"I'm his sister. "

"It might be enough, but I'm not a lawyer, but do you know who is?" She looked at him. "Cartwright Cather."

An eyebrow tipped.

"He's--he's my attorney. He doesn't go by Knuckles, but he can be pretty scary at times."

She laughed. And in the moonlight, he couldn't imagine anything more beautiful. He only wanted to see that smile light up her face every day for the rest of his life. But he didn't say anything. They'd been down that road. But... if they walked down that road one more time... being more mature and wise with experience and pain and sadness... would they walk to where the streets meet again?

"What are you thinking about?" She murmured.

"I'm thinking about you."

How was it that he still made her feel dizzy at times? Like the first time. Like the last time. She didn't reply to him. She just smiled and was glad that the dull light hid her blush.

"C'mon, I'll walk you back to the house." He gave her his hand.

The roof was built, slowly but surely, and with time, Angela was given the right to visit her little brother one bright early autumn day when the leaves were just beginning to turn and tumble gracefully to the ground. They chose a park in the middle of the city to meet. Angela knew Brayden's father by sight. Travis Devlin some how looked exactly like his name suggested. He was a tall Caucasian man with linear features and sad looking brown eyes. His hair was cut into a mullet, or something close to it. He wore a tee shirt with a beer logo on it and tight fitting Levis. He looked approachable, however weird he may have appeared, but he showed up with his wife who looked totally _un_approachable.

Debbie was altogether too large to be wearing the skin tight, too short, too low cut, outfit that she must have found in the junior's section of the mall in 1987. Her bleach blond hair was curled and hair sprayed beyond an inch of its life. She was chewing tobacco when they first met and on that day in October, she made it her goal to make sure that Angela was not needed. She was very suspicious of the legalities that were brought into the situation and was biased against her from the beginning.

Brayden broke away from the two as they approached Hodgins and Angela and wrapped his arms around Angela's neck. This made Debbie wince and mutter something to her husband. They sat on a benc, the four adults, and watched as Brayden played with the other children. He seemed well cared-for, but Angela couldn't help but to wonder if it was all window dressing. The shoes and clothes he wore were crisp as if they were just bought and put on in the car. His hair was a little on the long side and his nails were dirty, but otherwise he was spotless.

After a brief reintroduction, the four sat in silence. Angela wanted nothing more than to go and play with Brayden. But somehow she didn't want to seem too eager.

"He's a friendly boy," Debbie said. "He likes to hug people. Even if he doesn't know them much. Don't get your hopes too high on that front. I think he just likes hugging."

"He's a good boy," Angela agreed.

"Yeah. A good son."

After a minute or two more, Angela said, "I like his little outfit."

"You like that, huh?" she sniffed in return.

Minutes more passed before Debbie said, looking Angela up and down, "I like your outfit some. You didn't go and spend your entire paycheck on that, right? Cuz it would be a waste of money, better spent on bills and respectable things."

By then, Hodgins had gotten annoyed and was standing at the monkey bars where Brayden was pointing to the bars above his head wordlessly. Hodgins lifted him and hoisted him to the bars. Brayden laughed.

"He better not break my kid's arm," Debbie muttered.

Angela tried her hardest to ignore the impossible woman beside her.

Debbie elbowed her silent husband and whispered an order for him to go and play with Brayden. He sighed and stood to go and play with the boy. Soon, all four adults were trying to play with him. Eventually, Angela and Hodgins stood back. Not only was the visit ridiculous, but they were standing back and watching as other people were playing with Brayden.

"We should get goin'," Travis said at last. It was probably the only words anyone had heard from him the entire afternoon. "Come along, Brayden!" He repeated this several times until he had to go and retrieve the boy himself.

"Sometimes I think he's retarded," Debbie grumbled, to Angela's horror. "Can't potty train worth a damn and doesn't say nothing." She shoved a wad of tobacco into her mouth. Who uses Snuff anymore???

"Well, she's a winner," Hodgins said to Angela as they walked toward the car.

Angela didn't say anything. She was planning her next strategy. She had to get him back. Would it all have to be left up to chance for them to get Brayden back home and into their arms?

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_Thanks for reading! And for the record, I hate the 'R' word, but it's important for the story and that character..._


	16. Chapter 16

At ten years old, he could hardly see over the counter. He wouldn't reach that big growth spurt for several years to come. He had woken to yelling. Sadly, those were familiar sounds. At times they lulled him to sleep, but at other times, he covered his ears and hummed until it had drowned out all of those sounds and he fell back to sleep. For some reason, he had gotten out of bed that time.

He stood for several minutes in silence, the tall bar counter hiding his presence from his fighting parents. There was no love in the words that they exchanged. They were full of drunken anger and sullen fear. It wouldn't be long before he discovered that there was a difference. He would look back on those years and wonder why his mother stayed with his father. It was always rhetorical, but an answer always echoed back to him. And that answer echoed back in the form of a memory.

After the screen door slapped shut, his mother fell to the floor, knees to her forehead, and sobbed. In that moment, she was weak. His mother was a strong woman. She was careful not to put on any other front with her sons in the room, for fear that they would pick up the habits of their father. It didn't make a lot of sense, she knew that, but she also prayed she was wrong.

He walked into the 70s-style kitchen and sat down on the yellow and brown tile floor beside his mother. He didn't say anything for a long time. Then he put his arm around her. To his surprise, she put her head on his little shoulder and let her child comfort her.

Just like that day in 1979, he was standing just steps away from a woman he loved who was at her weakest moment. Where she would be sure to tell him about the odds that were in favor of the baby, she was instead closed inside of the bathroom, the shower running over her body, her sobs _almost _hidden by the sound of the downpour.

After dinner, he had asked her if she was OK. She was quick to list her multiple degrees and doctorates, emphasizing that she had contacts with people that the general populace did not. Then the bathroom door locked.

He may have been angry at her for keeping this from him so long, but he wasn't so callous that it didn't tear him in two knowing that she was in there and he was out there.

He knocked softly at first, "Bones, are you OK?"

"I'm fine..."

"Bones, open up."

"I'm showering..."

"I know that. C'mon, Bones. C'mon, just open up."

"Booth, just go away please." Her words were nasal from congestion.

He knew better.

"Bones, open up."

At this point, she had decided not to reply to him any more, despite several more requests.

"Fine, just remember you made me do this," he said, stepping back away from the door and giving it a violent kick.

It wasn't the fairy tale tuck-in he had expected, though. She scrambled to her feet in the slippery tub and was standing in front of him within a second. Apparently she wasn't very modest, either.

He tried not to look as she stood in front of him, hands on her hips. Who cared if she was pregnant? She was probably a hundred times sexier than he had ever imagined. Her breasts were fuller than if she wasn't pregnant and her belly was only bulging a little bit by that time. And to add to it, her eyes were positively blazing at him... and it was the hottest thing he had ever seen.

"What are you doing, Booth? You have no right to break in my door like that!"

"Bones, I--"

"You're paying for that."

"Bones, you can't just hide in here when you're hurting--"

"I'm fine, Booth. I told you that. Didn't you hear? Are you suffering from a hearing impairment because you--"

He grabbed her wrists roughly. It took him by surprise and took her breath from her chest. "Bones, just shut up. I'm not going to be on the outside of that door while you're in here crying. This isn't just about you any more--"

"I know that. It's your baby--"

"It has _always _been my baby, too, Bones. _Always_. The moment I started to suspect you were pregnant, I knew that I would want to be a part of this baby's life. Me, Bones. It's me. You know me better than that. I can't believe you'd think that I wouldn't want to be. You know me, dammit. You. Know. Me."

"You can go now," she said hoarsely.

"No. No, Bones. I'm here. And I don't regret anything. Not a thing."

"The door?"

He smiled as if he were going to laugh. "No. You and me. Our baby. The only thing I regret is that..." _we didn't make our baby the right way,_ he told himself.

"What?"

"Why don't you go put something on. I'll get us something to eat."

She watched him walk away from her. Again. Just like all of those other times. When her heart was pounding in her chest, he walked away. She closed her eyes.

Who was the stubborn one? Who was hiding? Who knew that they loved the other, but let fear get in the way?

Today, the answer was both. Both of them loved, but both of them feared.

The rest of the evening was spent in an ironic way. Booth fed her strawberries and popcorn as they watched _Casablanca _beneath a large quilt.

At the end of the film, he was quietly walking around the apartment getting ready to go. He put his jacket on and touched his back pocket. He noticed that he was missing his wallet; that familiar bump was missing. His partner lay on her back, reclined against the couch. Beside her, he found his wallet, which he put into his pocket. But he stayed there, hoving over her for a little while. He couldn't quite put his hand on it, but there was something amazing about her as a pregnant woman. Even with all of these fears about the baby's health and outcome, she still glowed with this maternal radiance and joy. He knew she would make a good mother. He just hoped that she would get a chance to see that, too.

He wanted to kiss her, wake her by pressing his lips to hers.

Deciding against it, despite an internal protest, he grabbed the throw that was on the back of the couch and pulled it over her. As he did so, he felt a movement beneath the blanket. It wasn't Brennan. She was still fast asleep.

He smiled to himself and pulled the blanket down, then carefully he pulled her shirt up, checking to make sure he wasn't waking his partner. Her eyes stayed closed. Beneath the soft skin of her belly, to the left of her belly button, a little bump pushed out. The bump moved swiftly up toward her ribcage, then disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. He grinned and tried not to laugh. Brennan was still asleep, he didn't want to disturb her. But the temptation was there. The bump appeared once again. He pressed a fingertip against it. It pushed back, then disappeared. He laughed.

Then realization set in. Even with ultrasound photos from three different doctors, this somehow made this little baby even more real. His eyes filled with tears. In spite of it all, he couldn't help but to feel like the most blessed man on earth. He smoothed a thumb across her belly button in line with the little foot that was pushing out to earth. Doctors might call his child deformed or a genetic anomaly, but he knew that his child had _purpose_, had _life_. And he could not wait to see him or her come into the world. His child might only breathe for a minute, but to hold him or her meant that he would be the father to an amazing one-of-a-kind gift. This little person would have a little bit of him and a little bit of Brennan. It may not be the fairy tale way of doing things, but they had brought this child into the world _together_.

He decided to put aside all of his frustration and pain, lay it down for the sake of this little person.

He leaned close and kissed the little spot where his child's foot was pushing out toward the world. 17 weeks. Until then, he would wait and be by his partner's side. After all, since when did he and Brennan ever do anything traditionally?

When the door closed behind him, Brennan moved her hand to her stomach, her eyes still closed, and smiled. Without a word, they had chosen the same path. Termination was never an option. They were both madly in love with this little baby. Every heart beat meant something grander. They may not be together as a couple, but this little baby would represent all of the What-Ifs. They were putting all of their hopes into the What-Ifs of this child's life. What if they were able to take their child to the park? What if they were able to teach their child Chinese? What if their child was a genius, too? What if they were able to take their child to a NASCAR event?

What if their child lived for a moment? What if their child lived for a year or a decade or for a century? What if their child defied logic and statistics?

That last question scared Brennan to think of. So much of her hopes had been put into such things over the years that it was scary to hope for the unlikely. She still felt his lips against her skin and the movement of her child inside of her. She didn't ask for a nuclear family and a white house with a picket fence and everything told her that those were illogical things to hope for... but she did.

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_Thanks again for the reviews. I hope you're all enjoying this story. =) Sorry for the space in time since the last. My mom has been going through some major surgeries, the last week was one such surgery. The surgery went well. _


	17. Chapter 17

A month had passed and she was still half asleep when she fumbled for the telephone in the darkness. She knocked the phone off from the night stand and thought she had awoken Hodgins down the hall, but when she heard nobody stir, she quietly answered.

On the other line, she heard a familiar sobbing voice. Her skin crawled. She thought the worst immediately. She promised to meet her at the Royal Diner. A few more words were exchanged before they hung up.

Angela sat on the edge of the bed, her heart still crashing against her ribcage, her mouth dry. What ever happened to routine? Sure, she wasn't one to like things to be the same forever, but because of times like these, she often wished for that familiar routine: wake, draw, reconstruct, go home.

She told herself to bite the bullet and stop with the pity party.

She pulled an old pair of sweat pants over her nightgown and pulled a sweatshirt over her head. She was careful not to disturb Hodgins as she stole into the night, taking the keys to his BMW on her way out.

The diner was empty, which wasn't too surprising at 3:30 AM on a Tuesday morning. She had noticed that her breath was chilled in the air and hung in front of her face like a ghostly chandelier.

The hostess asked her if she would like coffee. She declined since she had decided on going back to sleep later if that was at all possible.

After two cups of tea, a woman in an oversized flannel shirt stumbled into the diner and sat opposite of Angela. She immediately hailed Angela and ordered steak and eggs.

She said nothing until half of the steak and all of the eggs were safely stowed away in her gullet.

She finally spoke when, prompted by fears, Angela asked the woman who looked like she'd been in a bar all night, "Debbie, why did you call me tonight? Is Brayden OK?"

She nearly choked on the steak, "That little shit?"

Angela could feel her pulse speeding up and her cheeks stinging hotly, "Is Brayden OK?" she enunciated.

"That ain't why we here."

"Why, then?"

She wiped her lips, her elbows flatly on the table, "That isn't why we're here." The way she spoke sounded as if she were concentrating on every syllable to make sure of its accuracy in grammar.

"Then why?"

"That's a nice watch. How much did it cost you?"

Angela eyed the time piece. "I don't think--"

"We're lookin' into this nice school down the street. Lots of nice teachers. I want him to get a nice education."

Angela immediately knew what this was about.

"He's a retarded."

"Brayden has a disability?"

She took another bite. "Your mother liked key lime margaritas and Coor's Light." She took another bite, completely unaware of Angela's reaction to the terrible news. "Apparently she didn't kick the habit when she was pregnant. Be a dear and pass the salt. Thanks."

Trying to speak through the shock was like running through water. "And... you need the money for what?"

"That school's got a real nice special ed program. Thing is, we can't afford it, not with Travis laid off." She stood. "Of course you don't have to do anything. He's our responsibility now and it's not like he won't get a quality education at an overcrowded public school. Lord knows it'll delay him further. Maybe he'll be institutionalized some day but that's up to God, right?"

She put her purse on her shoulder slowly... stalling.

"Email me the tuition... the, um... the tuition information and I'll make sure it's paid for by the end of the week."

"That won't work."

"Sorry?"

"They don't accept checks from outside sources. Check's gotta go into our account then we'll pay on credit through our bank."

Angela was silent for a while. This time she stood, then walked past Mrs. Devlin. "Just send me the information." By the time Angela was in the street, the sun was beginning to brighten the wintry sky. She was still trying to process all of it. Brayden had Fetal Alcohol Syndrome? How would this effect him? How severe was it?

She was glad when her cell rang and the caller ID announced that it was Brennan.

"Sweetie, what do you know about Fetal Alcohol Syndrome?"

Brennan was in the lab that morning. She shifted the phone to her other ear. "You're talking about Brayden, aren't you?"

"How do you know?"

"Fetal Alcohol Syndrome exhibits an array of symptoms including cranio-facial abnormalities. I remembered what you told me about your mother after we first met and I put the two together."

"Sweetie, why didn't you tell me?"

"Booth once told me that if I ever notice that someone's child has a deformity," she began, as if quoting from memory, "that I shouldn't just blurt it out in front of them. It's rude."

Angela couldn't help but to smile and wonder what exactly happened when that conversation came about. "Sweetie, it's OK to tell your best friend."

"Usually such fluctuations in one's voice can be confusing to me, but I've known you for a while, Angela, and you sound upset."

"I'm OK, Bren," she sighed as she reached Hodgins' car and got in. The heater began to warm up the car immediately. That was the reason she stole Hodgins' car. The heater worked faster and it was a crisp morning.

"Now by 'OK' do you mean you're actually 'OK' or are you trying to make me feel better about your well-being?"

"I'm actually OK, just... pissed."

"Would you like to have breakfast later? I'm almost done here."

"That sounds great, sweetie. Why'd you call, though?"

"There was a message on the answering machine from the State. They need you to return their call as soon as possible."

Angela leaned her head on the steering wheel.

"Angela?... Angela?... Ange?"

"I'll be at the lab in ten, sweetie."

Brennan didn't even get a chance to say good-bye before the other end of the line was dead.

Booth waltzed into the office with a big grin on his face.

"Alright, Bones. I have somethin' for you. Actually, for the baby."

Brennan stood and walked toward the bag that was in Booth's hand. She reached for it, but Booth quickly pulled it out of her reach. "M-M-M, Bones. Not yet. Guess what it is."

"Well, considering that the two most common baby gifts are clothing or blankets, I'd say one or the other."

"You know what, Bones? When you do that thing where you guess and you use your facts and your statistics you just ruin all of my fun."

"So I was correct."

Booth sighed and pulled out little blue tee shirt that said, "JR FBI AGENT".

"Are you so certain that it's a boy?"

"Ah, I knew you'd say something cheeky like that."

"Cheeky?"

"Yeah. Cheeky." He dropped the bag and pulled out the next one. It was a pink tee shirt that said, "JR SCIENTIST."

"What if it's a girl. Would you be upset that she wouldn't have a junior FBI Agent tee shirt?"

"Well, no, Bones cuz you know... you're a girl, you're a scientist... I'm a man, I'm--"

"You're not seriously saying that a woman can't be an FBI Agent?"

"Of course not. Remember Perotta? Of course she did have some guns on her..."

Brennan was glaring at him when Cam poked her head into the office, "Are you two at it again? Listen, have either of you seen Angela? There's a scary-ass woman from the state looking for her."

The argument was dropped immediately as the three of them walked toward Angela's office with curiosity. Angela was already in her office by then and was talking to the woman who ended up being Miss Willis.

"Who is that?" Booth asked.

Brennan shrugged.

"She looks familiar but I can't put my finger on it. Could she be from Juvenile Services? Everyone there looks like an axe murderer. After Michelle's dad died I was down at the DOJS every day for months. I'm still not done with them." Cam shivered. There were too many bad and good memories surrounding that place to make it warm and inviting.

They were all silent as Angela greeted her.

"Did I miss an appointment or something?" Angela shook the woman's hand warmly.

"Nothing like that, Angela." She stood and removed some paperwork from her briefcase.

Angela looked up and saw all of the curious faces in her window. She walked to the door and before she closed it, she said, "Sorry, guys."

"Damn," Cam whispered.

"I'll just go get her name from the security guard and make a few calls," Booth said.

"Nice!" Cam grinned and jogged after Booth.

Brennan decided to take a seat at her computer on the platform and watch silently until the conversation was over.

Inside of the office, Miss Willis decided to be blunt, "I like you, Angela."

"Oh... kay."

"And I don't like Mr. and Mrs. Devlin. My coworker Janine is working their case, so I've met them on a few occasions. How do I put this? Your chances of fostering your brother... they're minimal."

It was another smack in the face for Angela. "Why is this?"

"The state doesn't look fondly upon unmarried foster mothers if they're working. And according to your paperwork that you turned in, you worked fifty-two hours last week. The worry--"

"I'd cut back."

"The worry is with children such as Brayden... especially since he's been diagnosed with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, as you've probably already guessed by now, that his behavioral issues will only be exasperated when he's in the home of a workaholic. Stability is the thing that these kids need and new faces day in and day out in a daycare is not exactly a step above the foster care system, faulty as it may be."

Angela was blinking back tears and trying her hardest to remain calm. From the platform, Brennan was trying everything not to go in and rescue Angela. She may be naive about some things, but she could tell that Angela was in pain.

"I've been informed that the state is going to deny your paperwork. I have a month to review your case with a judge. After that time lapses, I can't do much else. The case will most likely be dropped by the judge. Angela, I'm telling you this because I've seen you with your little brother. You love him. You care about his well-being...." she was silent for a moment. "I'm retiring at the end of this year. If they fire me, then so be it. My 401-K's crap anyway."

Angela laughed and wiped away a tear that had escaped. "Is there anything I can do?"

"You could try meeting with the judge. Besides that there's not much else... nothing short of getting married anyway," she laughed uncomfortably. "I,uh. I hope that everything goes OK with you, Angela." With that, she left.

Brennan was quickly by her side. Instead of over-thinking and trying lamely to comfort her friend with words, she simply hugged her and let her cry on her shoulder.

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_Thanks again, everyone! :) :) :)  
_


	18. Chapter 18

Hodgins was deep in dreamland. He wasn't dreaming about slime or bugs or dirt... he was dreaming about a certain woman who he had always been in love with. Somehow, even in his dreams, she was impossible to catch.

One minute he was chasing her in a classic Model-T and the next, he was torn from that dream world with a gentle shifting of his bed. Without opening his eyes, he gently slapped away at the body and muttered, "Off," to the 'dog' that he thought was disturbing his sleep.

"OK," replied that disturber of sleep.

His eyes peeled open and he scrambled to turn on the light. "No, wait." His eyes adjusted to her familiar face and form before he asked, "Do you, do you need somethin', Ange?"

"No, nothing, Jack."

He sat up, still half-dazed, "Uh... the only other thing I can give you is... is sexual gratification, but--"

"Let's not go there."

"Yeah. Let's not go there. What can I do for you?"

"You make it sound like a business," she jested.

He slid over and patted the sheets. She hesitated, then slid next to him and under the blankets. He leaned his head against the headboard. "What is it, Angela?"

She tried to speak. Then a few tears slipped out. She laughed and wiped them away. "I have to quit my job at the Jeffersonian. I already talked to Brennan about it. She... she tried to stop me, you know... but, I think it's the right choice."

"Woah. What? Why are you quitting?" He sat up a little straighter.

"I was informed today by Miss Willis that... that my chances of getting custody of Brayden were very slim--sister or not."

"You're kidding."

"I wish I was, Hodgins. Basically, unmarried working parents are not favored in the system. Put me up against Devlin and--"

"You've got no chance." He ran a hand over his face. "So that's it then? You're just gonna quit? Like that?"

"Like that."

They were silent for several minutes. Angela didn't know what to ask of him.

Hodgins nodded and stood up, pulling pajama pants over his boxers and throwing a robe over his shoulders. Angela watched him in wide-eyed curiosity as he circled the bed, sliding slippers on. He grabbed Angela's hand and led her out of the mansion and onto the large green lawn. Except for a few well-lit places and the stars above them, the world was dark.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

So she held his hand tighter. No questions asked.

Eventually they reached the edge of the green where the lawn met a forested piece of land. Hodgins looked down at Angela's feet. "Got good shoes on?"

"Yeah. Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

The soil beneath their feet was soggy and muddy from a recent storm. The air was icy and leaves padded their feet as they followed an overgrown path through the woods. Hodgins lit their way with a flashlight that had been stowed in his pocket. The ground grew steep beneath their feet and tilted southward. A few times she slipped, but he held her firmly in his arms every time. She didn't know if it was the impromptu hike that was making her heart beat so fast or the fact that he was holding her closely in his arms and she knew every curve of his body, every scent, every muscle.

"You OK?" he asked.

She nodded breathlessly and he continued to lead her through the woods. The sound of a creek chimed through the trees and it grew louder as they came closer.

"We're not going--?"

He laughed. She could see his blue eyes twinkle with mischief and merriment, even through the darkness. She wondered what he was up to. For the entire time that she was holding his hand and being led through the woods, she had forgotten all of her worries about adoption, paper work, social workers, and finances. For the first time in a very long time, she was herself again. And she was with Jack Hodgins. And her hand was so warm encapsulated in his, held firmly. It scared her to know she knew him so well. But it also scared her to know that she had no idea what he was up to.

They crossed a little field and a little cabin began to grow from the trees. The full moon lit up the old roof. It was out of repair, the whole building, but it looked like that newer timber and shingles had been nailed into place as time wore on. It was old, but it was not forgotten. What was so important about this place that someone--most likely Hodgins himself--came out and repaired it every other summer, pulling off old and weathered shingles and nailing new shingle in its place.

He unlocked the door and let Angela in. She looked around. It was dark, but Hodgins had quickly found a kerosene lamp that he was lighting. It was clean, surprisingly so from the outward look of the whole place. There was a pull out sofa, a fireplace, a radio and a little kitchen. There were at least two other little rooms, but she didn't go and explore.

She shrugged her shoulders at Hodgins as he blew out the match and walked toward her. The lamplight flickered all over the room.

"Where are we, Hodgins?"

"My, um... My dad built this place himself after my mom and him became engaged."

"Wow. So that makes it...?"

"Old? Yeah. I try to keep it in repair, but I get busy with the lab and things."

"Why are we here? You're not going to make me play Twenty Questions, are you? It's two in the morning, Jack."

He chuckled. "Anyway, when my dad and mom were 'courting' this place used to be just acres and acres of forest and my dad and my mom used to come out here to be alone."

"And have a little boom-boom?"

"That's what we call a Don't Ask, Don't Tell Policy." He laughed. "So when my dad went to ask her to marry him he took her to this very spot and then afterward he worked. And he worked and he worked and then he bought this land. They didn't get married until he could buy it for her. It was his wedding gift to her. I... I never really got along with my father, but I think that's--"

"Romantic."

He reached out and held her hand, "Maybe a bunch of shell fish wasn't our happy ending, Angela Montenegro, and I'm sure that we'll have our share of struggles--"

"Jack--"

"We've already had enough to last us a lifetime, but I've never stopped loving you. I don't know how many times I wanted it to be me and not him (or her) and never said a word about it. Maybe there are some things that aren't just a coincidence in this life. Maybe there are soul mates and 'meant to be's. I just don't want to figure out any of that by myself. And I certainly don't want to find out without you."

She was silent for just a little longer than he had expected.

"Jeezus, Angela, say something."

She kissed him deeply and unexpectedly. "I've never stopped loving you, either. I thought I just hurt you so bad--"

"No, never."

She kissed him again, letting her body be held tightly against him with his powerful arms. Their bodies meshed so perfectly. Every moment in his arms was just that much more that she was convinced that, just as he said, there were things that were meant to be. There were trials and struggles, but she had never forgotten what it was like to fall into his arms, or in this case, a pull out sofa in the middle of the woods, behind the main property of the Hodgins Estate. Even with the rough wool blanket being the only blanket in the house to keep them warm, their bodies were hot enough on that winter night to keep them warm until the sun rose.

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_Thanks again! This story will not be long and drawn out. I'm thinking it'll be no longer than 25 chapters IF THAT.  
_


	19. Chapter 19

It was hard to get comfortable any more. As her body grew, she shifted more in her sleep and found it increasingly difficult to rest. Her back ached, her shoulder ached, her hip ached. All of this led to a heavy head and sore muscles when she woke up in the morning.

She let her pajamas fall to the bathroom tile and stared at her expanding midsection for several minutes.

Sometimes, when she was all alone, she let all rationality fly right out the window and she completely fell in love. She didn't question the oxytocin that her body was basically swimming in that was known to increase the mother/child bond and how it contributed to the extreme and undeniable _love _that she felt for the little person that kept her up at night with anxiety, heartburn, and loving kicks to the bladder.

Another side effect: swelling. By that time, she was standing in front of the sink with the hot shower running two feet away from her. She wiped the fog from the mirror and ran her right hand under cold water. She pulled on the ring until her ring finger grew purple. Then she pumped hand soap on to her hand and lubricated the ring. It slid off after a short struggle.

The ring was still in her hand when she heard a knock at the door. She stuck her head out, "Is that you, Booth?"

He let himself in, "Runnin' late, Bones?"

"I didn't sleep well."

"Take your time."

"No new case this morning?"

"Nothing new." Booth let himself in and sat on the couch. Brennan closed the bathroom door and stepped into the shower. The hot water relaxed her muscles.

Booth was looking around. Things had changed in his partner's apartment. Since the big revelation, as underplayed as it was by Brennan, things had changed drastically. Electrical outlets, cabinets, doors, and toilets had all been secured, locked, taped, or otherwise disabled by The Baby Zone, a safety company that came out and stuck numerous plastic things on dangerous objects around your house. The bill was over three thousand dollars. Booth remembered feeling his chest constrict then Brennan telling Booth he didn't have to worry about the price. He tried to object, but she reminded him that she was wearing a three hundred dollar maternity bra. The argument ended and Booth was left with a picture of Brennan in nothing but a bra in his head.

On the coffee table was Parenting Magazine. He reached for it and sat back. He flipped it open. It was an old FBI trick he'd pulled before. Nine times out of ten, the page fell to the last or most opened page. He was trying to analyze the meaning of the fact that she had half-finished a quiz called "Will You Be a Good Mother?" when Brennan came out of the bathroom refreshed, hair still damp, but ready to go.

He clapped his hands together, "There we are. Ready to go, Bones?"

"Yes. Wait, my bag. OK."

He led her out, opening the door for her. She smiled at him briefly. That one smile made him lose it. In that one smile, he could see everything that it should be, that it could be, that it _ought _to be.

---

"It's just going to be a small thing," Angela said, sipping her chai tea. Brennan had taken to decaffeinated chai tea, so Angela sipped that in support of her friend, although she felt she could really use a cappuccino.

"Wasn't last time a small thing, too?" Cam queried.

"I only have a month. I think it will be nice."

"Do you love him?" This time it was Brennan. The question threw everyone off guard. Brennan talking about love? The looks she received made her reply, "I'm told that's a common factor in a happy marriage... a strong emotional bond which some interpret to be love."

"Sweetie, it's love, no special interpretations there. And yes. I love him. I've never actually stopped loving him." She smiled down at her hand and twisted the ring absently. The look she had on her face made Brennan wonder if she was even still on earth with them. Certainly her body was there before her, but where was her mind... her [metaphorical] heart?

Angela caught Brennan's eye. Brennan quickly looked down and snatched the fork from her plate. She stabbed absently at the salad on her plate. Cam was obviously happy. A fry in her right hand hovered in space with a blob of bright red ketchup on the end.

"Have you picked out a day?" Cam asked. Cam looked at Brennan. Brennan looked down again. Cam's brows scrunched together. She couldn't interpret what Brennan was thinking.... usually her expressions were so telling, but not today. Was she happy for her friend? Disappointed? Worried? Or... jealous?

"December 24th. I hope that's OK with you," Angela replied to Cam.

"Me? Why would I mind?"

"You have Michelle--"

"She's a big girl. And I'm sure we'd all rather be at a wedding rather than watching TV on Christmas Eve. Don't sweat it, Angela."

Angela smiled widely. Then she looked at Brennan. "What about you?" Brennan gave her a look which prompted the reply, "It's only three weeks from your due date and I would like for you to still be my maid of honor."

"I'll be fine. The baby is safe as long as he or she is in my uterus."

She said it so nonchalantly that Angela gave her a sympathetic look and reached for Brennan's hand.

"What?"

"It's gonna be OK, sweetie."

"Well, statistically speaking--"

"Statistics nothing," Cam said. "You're not alone, Dr. Brennan. You've got all of us giving that baby every drop of prayer and good thoughts that we can muster up. She's going to be just fine."

"She?"

"A girl can hope, can't she?"

"You're not marrying Hodgins," Brennan said to Angela, ignoring Cam, "just so you can foster your brother, are you? Because I still have my foster parenting license. I could take him in."

Angela didn't say anything. She just stood up and left for the bathroom.

Brennan didn't seem to notice how upset Angela looked as she stormed off. Brennan said something off-hand about the bathroom line being long.

Cam grabbed her purse and made a swift move to sit beside Brennan. "You realize you hurt her feelings, right?"

"Angela's?"

"Yes, Angela's. You know, Dr. Brennan, for being so smart, you sure can be stupid."

"My IQ--"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just move your ass and apologize to Angela. She obviously love Hodgins. I've never been led to believe anything else."

Brennan got up from her seat, almost mechanically and found her way to Angela who was standing outside the Royal Diner. She didn't bother putting on her jacket when she fled from the diner, so her arms were wrapped around her waist and snowflakes were beginning to float down from heaven.

"I'm sorry if I said anything to offend you back there, Ange."

Angela turned and smiled instinctively, "I should be used to it by now." Brennan looked hurt so she added, "I didn't mean it that way, sweetie. You... you don't think the same way... your filter isn't always turned on. I get that. I guess... I bet you weren't the only one who thought about that."

They walked beneath the overhang where they were sheltered from the snowflakes.

Angela held up her left hand against her face so it was level.

"When Hodgins' dad gave his mom this ring it didn't even fit her finger so she wore it on a silver chain for five years. They didn't even have enough money to resize it." She looked down at the ring. "It fits me. I'd call it 'meant to be' but you'd tell me that that's stupid." She looked back up at Brennan. "Of course when he made his billions he bought his wife a rock big enough to skate on, but you know Hodgins. Anyway... I do love him, Bren."

Brennan hugged her friend, her full belly being the only thing separating the two from a tight squeeze. "I'm happy for you, Angela. And yes, I'm honored to be your maid of honor again."

Angela laughed, "That little guy just kicked me!" She looked down at Brennan's belly and touched the spot where the baby was kicking. "You wanna come out and play with your Aunt Angie, don't you?" She smiled at Brennan, "How about all four of us go shopping?" Angela smiled. Again, she touched the ring in a way that made Brennan feel irrationally jealous. Brennan reached for her own ring.

She... she reached for her ring...

She looked down and realized that her finger was naked.

What had she done with her ring? The last thing she remembered was taking off her ring before taking a shower. She had planned on putting into her jewelery box. But then, what after that?

"Is something wrong, Bren? Brennan, you look like you've seen a ghost."

"Can we shop tomorrow?"

"Of course, sweetie. Do you need ride or something?"

"I'll just grab a taxi."

Angela watched in amazement as her friend took her quick exit and fled away in a cab. "What in the world was that all about?"

---

When Booth arrived at Brennan's apartment, he could hear the clatter of bathroom items hitting the tile. He followed the sound and stood in the bathroom doorway in amazement as a woman, seven months pregnant, was on her hands and knees looking beneath the sink. She was pulling at the drain pipe with her bare hands and... was she crying?

"Bones!" Booth was on his knees beside Brennan in a millisecond, pulling her hands away from the pipe. "Bones! What are you doing?" Her hands released and she was still... _crying_! "Bones, what's wrong?"

"My ring!" It was half-angry, half-sad, the way that she blurted it out.

"What? What about your ring?"

"This morning... my finger was swollen so I--I pulled... and I don't know what I did with it." She held up her bare hand.

Booth knew what it meant. "Bones, I'm sorry. Look I'll help you find it. It'll turn up eventually."

"No! I have to find it, Booth. I know it's irrational, but... it's the only thing I have left of my mother. I have to find it."

Booth's heart was being torn out seeing Brennan so upset. Maybe it was the hormones, he thought. Maybe she really was this upset and pregnancy was allowing her to express it. Either way... He leaned close and held her in his arms. "We're gonna find it, Bones. We're gonna find it."

She let herself be held by him. Nothing felt more right. She wouldn't even admit it to herself. Not even when she was dating a man she really liked in every possible facet had she felt as perfect as in Booth's arms. She forced herself, after a few minutes, to come back to reason and focus. She pulled away and shook her head. "It's just... really upsetting. I know it's silly, but... I just wanted that artifact for my--our child. It's a piece of history with a story behind it. I don't know... if that makes any sense..."

He nodded, "It makes sense, Bones. It's like with your anthropology and your cultures and how some people come up with songs to pass down stories from the past--That ring, that's your song."

Brennan looked at him curiously.

"I pay attention, Bones." He sighed, breaking the tension purposefully, then stood and offered his hand.

She stood beside him.

"We'll find that ring. First thing in the morning, we'll bring Hodgins out here with his little metal detector thingy--"

"That wouldn't work, Booth. It would detect the nails staples in the structure."

"Fine. We'll just make him look it over with a fine-toothed comb. We'll find it. In the meantime, let's you and I get a bite to eat. Does this little guy like pizza?" Booth reached out and touched her belly. It was meant to be playful, but it ended up being a more intimate touch. His hand remained.

"Who says it'll be a boy?" Brennan asked softly.

"Who says it'll be a girl?"

Booth smiled.

Just as he was about to pull his hand away, she covered his hand with hers gently, "What's your song?... For the baby?"

"We..." he hadn't expected that question. "We all have our songs, Bones. We'll make our own song. Together."

The moment grew more intense. He reached out and let his hand find its way behind her neck. Her heart skipped a beat. It didn't help that lately she had been feeling incredibly... We'll just leave that last part to the imagination of the reader. And he was pulling her closer. Her mind zipped through a thousand images that she had indeed thought on before. He was pulling her closer. Then he kissed her forehead gently. Lovingly. Intimately. It was almost as good, but somehow it broke her heart because it wasn't at all sexual, but it was filled with more love than any kiss on the lips ever could. It spoke so much more than words could speak. It said everything that they had been wanting to say to each other in the past five years...

"C'mon, Bones, I'm buying."

She nodded breathlessly.

---

_More crazy impromptu chapters to come. Are we enjoying ourselves? ;)_


	20. Chapter 20

"I'm nervous," Angela confessed. A part of her, a large part of her--a part that was hidden in the depths and the shadows--was afraid to let Brennan see. Ever since the hurried engagement that came from nowhere, but from everywhere, Angela often wondered if Brennan disapproved. Sure, she knew that Brennan was entirely anti-marriage and anti-love, but she had always entertained the thought that Brennan believed in those things, but was scared that they might never alight on her life.

Two weeks ago when Angela dragged Cam and Brennan along for a fitting at an upscale boutique, Angela came out of the dressing room veiled in white--a much more traditional look than the first. And she was glowing.

And there was that look again from Brennan. She remembered that her best friend made some crass comment about white representing virginity and Angela had entertained multiple partners. The woman who was pinning her dress looked... horrified?

"Don't say it like that, sweetie. I have the right to shop around," she had replied. The rest of the day was dappled with such comments, which ended up with an unintentional 'silent treatment' from Angela, and a fear to say anything deeper than 'I'm in love' and 'stop worrying'.

The veil was discarded and Angela stood in a mermaid-style, halter, off-white wedding dress. Somehow the fight for white and veils was never worth it.

"Just..." Brennan put aside all irrational veins of understated jealousy so nothing would mar her friend's day. _That _was rational, she told herself. "When I'm nervous, I try to breathe in and out slowly and focus on someone specific--in your case, that would be Hodgins." Brennan smiled, almost proud of herself for giving such good advice.

"Who do you focus on?" Angela asked, clasping a necklace around her neck.

Brennan didn't have to think long, but the surprise couldn't be hidden in her voice, "Generally... it's Booth. When he's in the audience, that is."

The door opened and Cam squeezed in, "It's a madhouse out there!" She smiled warmly at Angela, "You look beautiful, Angela. What were you two doing for your honeymoon?"

"Well, today's Saturday, so tomorrow we're going to be locked inside of our hotel room, and Monday we're in court. God, I hope it's the last time I have to be. I just want Brayden with us. You know, safe."

The next knock at the door was Booth.

"Can I come in?"

"All's clear," Cam replied, letting him into the little office.

Booth came in. His eyes fell immediately to Angela. He whistled a little, "Wow, Angela. Hodgins is a lucky guy." Then he looked at Brennan. The look that he gave her was completely different. "Wow, Bones. You're, you look-- Wow." It was like falling in love with her all over again. "I was just--"

"Yes...?" Cam asked with a sly smile on her lips.

"Time. It's, uh, almost time. Five minutes. Angela, I get the first dance, right?"

"Too late, babe, Hodgins already called it."

--

Hodgins stood stiffly on the platform. Yes, the _forensic _platform. The lab was shut down early that day, lights were turned down low and small white Christmas lights were strung throughout the facility. Their story had come full circle. The first proposal was in the lab with strange glowing lights. Tonight, they were to be married where they fell in love together. They weren't getting married in a little white church at the edge of town--that first location was mostly to please guests--most of which were people who worked for the Cantilever Group. This time, the audience was made up of close friends and a few relatives.

The man conducting the ceremony was a gruff old judge who had conducted a few of the group's cases in the past. Everyone knew everyone. There wasn't an unfamiliar face in the lab.

Angela's father walked up and shook Hodgins' hand. "Congratulations, son."

"Thanks, Mr.... Angela's dad..."

"Since we last spoke, I've come into possession of many a firing arm, almost to the point of being illegal. And I've still got the cars. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir."

Angela's father turned, putting his shades back on and walked down the steps.

"Wait," Hodgins said. Angela's father turned slowly. "For--for the record, I've never stopped loving your daughter. Not for one second."

The man nodded slowly and sat on a chair at the bottom of the platform. He took his guitar from its base and held it in his hands. He strummed a few cords, a melody that was sweet but sad. Angela would walk herself down the aisle.

To the tune of the sad melody, Cam and Sweets met each other outside of Angela's office and walked toward the platform. The music stopped, unintentionally, when Booth met Brennan.

"I--" The words almost escaped. They needed to be said. The woman he loved so dearly was in front of him, nearly ready to give birth to his child. It didn't matter how the child was conceived, all that mattered is the fact that he wanted more than anything to be a part of their present... and their future.

"What?" Brennan asked.

"I love... You look beautiful, Bones." He reached for her hand, instead of holding out his elbow for her to hold onto. Things had changed between them. Elbow-holding was a thing of the past, it wasn't as intimate as feeling her squeezing his hand confidently back as they walked to the platform.

For one night, Brennan didn't mind that the 'sanctity of the platform' was being desecrated by wedding vows.

"Have you ever stopped to think," Booth had reasoned with her. "That after someone's been married on that thing, that it'll be even more 'sanctimonious' or whatever?"

"Sanctimonious?"

"Yeah, it's a word."

"You used it wrong."

"Whatever, you know what I mean, Bones. Why do you always have to correct me?"

"I only correct you when you're wrong."

The rest of the drive had been silent, except for Brennan saying, "Fine" and Booth grinning victoriously.

Angela walked toward them as her father played on the guitar.

Booth usually watched the bride in these situations, but this time around, he was keeping an eye on Brennan who stood a few feet away from him on the opposite side of the platform's step.

"Bones, you OK?" he whispered. She was uncommonly pale.

She nodded, but Booth kept an eye on her anyway.

"Are you in labor?"

She didn't reply.

Angela may have been nervous several minutes before, but as she walked up to Hodgins, she found that she was unafraid. For most of her life, she had found that she was always searching, but never finding. For the first time in her life--well, second (although there was something so different about this time around)--she found that all of the pieces of her puzzle were falling together in such a way that was both incredibly exhilarating and frightening. It was scary to know that her life was planned before her--husband, child--but there were things that she was yet to discover: solidarity, belonging, family, motherhood, being a partner to another human being through thick and thin.

"Bones," Booth whispered. By then, Brennan looked as if she were going to vomit. She didn't answer or even make a move to answer. Booth crossed over to her. Everyone noticed and looked at him as he whispered to her. "Bones is in labor."

"Oh my God," Angela said.

"I'll bring my car around," Cam said, hopping down from the platform and naturally taking over the situation.

"Like in labor LABOR?" Sweets stumbled. "But you're like thirty-six weeks, right? That's--that's--that's--"

"Take a chill pill, Sweets," Cam said. "Why don't you go boil some water?"

"Right. To like disinfect and stuff, right?"

"Mostly so you won't annoy people," she replied. By then, she had her keys in her hand and was beginning to run out the door.

Booth slipped his arms under Brennan and lifted her into his arms.

"Sweetie, why didn't you tell me you were in labor?" Angela asked.

"It's your day," Brennan said.

"There are at least three hundred and sixty five days in a year. One of them would've worked, Bren. I'm not heartless. You can tell me these things."

The wedding party followed Booth through the front doors. People who were working late at the Jeffersonian looked on in curiosity. A wedding party? A pregnant woman? People panicking? They had all been spending way too many over-time hours at the lab!

--

After a mad dash through the streets of Washington D.C., the wedding party of give-or-take twenty guests including a bride, groom, Billy Gibbons, a few off duty FBI Agents and Squints, were packed into the waiting room of the high risk maternity unit of a nearby hospital. People who walked by gave the group several glances over. It was nearing eleven forty-five at night. The still unmarried Angela and Hodgins were on a loveseat, her head on his shoulder as they napped. A few were asleep on the floors, while others were either reading or standing or otherwise trying to keep themselves entertained.

People roused from their naps when Booth came in. He had shed his jacket and tie and was just in his slacks and dress shirt. That made a few people wonder if the baby had arrived. Angela immediately began to fear for the baby's health; she felt her stomach flip.

"Where's the baby?" Angela asked, standing.

"Safe and sound, still on Bones. Um..." he squeezed his eyes tightly. "Bones is resting and on Magnesium. They don't want her to deliver yet. The high risk doc came in and... he made it pretty clear that if the baby's born early... like even at 39 weeks that chances are survival are," he blinked away a few tears, "they're next to nothing. So, Bones is on bedrest and we're just praying that she makes it to forty weeks. They won't even try to resuscitate him."

"Oh my..." Cam whispered.

"Anyway," Booth said, trying to break the tension. "She's fine now. The contractions have stopped so... Sorry about your wedding, Ange."

"It's not over yet," Angela said.

"What?" Hodgins said.

"We've got a judge, a license, guests. It's not over yet."

"Where are you going?" Hodgins asked.

"Marry me now," Angela said. "I can't wait another minute. We've waited long enough, don't you think? Why not here? Why not now?"

Hodgins smiled. "Why not here?"

"Exactly."

After a few favors that were asked to get around the three-visitor-limit, the group filed into Brennan's room. Flowers were bought from the gift shop, the window's blinds were pulled widely open to let in the moon light, lights were turned down low. Their wedding wasn't as they imagined. They weren't in the place where they fell in love, but they were surrounded by the people they loved most in the world and they were in the hospital where Brennan and Booth's little baby was going to be born and maybe even in the same hospital where their own baby would be born someday.

Despite the fact that this was more of a whirlwind romance than last, it seemed more perfect and more planned than last. Maybe it's because they had realized they were in love for many years instead of months? Either way, there was a calm and a peace that wasn't there the first time. There was a calm that fell like a summer rain.

But it was winter.

The clock struck midnight and it was no longer Christmas Eve. It was Christmas morning and a soft powdery snow began to fall outside of the large hospital window.

They chose to exchange a Traditional Irish Wedding Vow that day,

_You cannot possess me for I belong to myself  
But while we both wish it,  
I give you that which is mine to give._

You cannot command me for I am a free person.  
But I shall serve you in those ways you require  
And the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand.  
I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night.  
and the eyes into which I smile in the morning.  
I pledge to you the first bite from my meat.  
And the first drink from my cup.

I pledge to you my living, and my dying, equally in your care.  
And tell no strangers our grievances.  
This is my wedding vow to you  
This is a marriage of equals.

They kissed and nurses as far away as two wards over heard the cheers.

When people had gone home and Angela and Hodgins were safely tucked away in their Honeymoon Suite, Booth and Brennan were finally alone. Brennan was asleep, as the medication made her feel heavy-headed and sleepy. A chunk of snow fell from the roof outside of their window, waking Booth. He shifted and looked over at Brennan. She was asleep, but the fetal monitor and movements in her belly made it very clear that the baby was wide awake. He found it amazing how he... or she... could be hanging onto life by a thread, but as long as he was inside... he was safe.

Booth stood and made clear Brennan was still very asleep. He pulled up the hospital gown just a little bit.

He whispered to the baby, "Merry Christmas, little guy. Your... your Auntie Ange and Uncle Hodgins got married today. It was... it was nice. I'm real happy for them. Listen, just... you've gotta do me a favor. Call it a Christmas gift. You gotta stay in there for four more weeks, buddy. I can't lose you... you know. I just... I love you a lot." He let his hand rest on her belly and felt the baby moving around beneath him. There was one strong kick to his hand which made him wonder if that was a 'yes'.

---

_Thank you for reading, everyone! :)  
_


	21. Chapter 21

The snow was peppering her raven waves as she walked toward the little front porch in a Southeast DC neighborhood. Although it was Christmas morning, Angela noted that there was a buzz of people walking around, just plain standing around, or staring at her from their front porches.

There was no door bell to ring on the little brick building and she would have knocked to gain entry, but solid steel bars blocked the doors and windows. Angela gripped the tiny Christmas present in her hands and tried to shelter the shiny red paper from the falling snow. She noticed some movement inside the building, behind the yellowish curtains. It wasn't an ideal place for a little boy to grow up; the neighborhood was beyond questionable. It seemed that not a day passed without WTTG or WUSA reporting a violent crime in the area. But it was definitely better than the little crack house that her mother was raising the boy in. At least here, he would have running water and a solid roof over his head. She put aside any worries that the house inside was a wasteland and shouted to let herself be known.

The curtains moved. The blinds shook. Then two hallow eyes appeared behind the door which was cracked only enough for a little bit of her face to show. Angela was shocked at Debbie's appearance. She looked ill and anxious. "Whatcha want, hon? It's Christmas, ain't it?"

"I... I brought Brayden a present."

"Brayden ain't here."

"He's not?"

"I mean he's 'sleep. It's not even ten yet. I'm lettin' him sleep in. Why don't you just come back a little later?"

Angela batted her eyes disbelievingly. Behind Debbie, she could hear laughing, chatting, har-har-haring voices. "Having a party?"

"It's a family get-together." Debbie opened the door just enough to snatch the gift from Angela's hands and close the door again. "Why don't you come back later? It's a holiday."

"But I was hope--"

Angela was left talking to the steel bars again. She felt like breaking the woman's nose, but she reminded herself that tomorrow was the day that she would talk to her lawyers. Today she was a newlywed and tomorrow would be a new day.

"A new day," she whispered to herself. She turned and walked slowly down the walk to where Hodgins was parked on the street.

---

Fifteen minutes earlier, Booth was standing in the hospital doorway waiting for Brennan to wake up. When she began to stir, he walked over to her and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Merry Christmas, Bones." This greeting did not come from Booth. It came from a little blondish-haired boy who was quickly becoming a young man before his father's eyes. "Dad said you were sick. You want some?" he asked, offering some of his lunch.

"Mmm, no thank you, Parker. I'm not hungry."

"Woah, there, Bones," Booth said, stepping forward. "You don't have to sit up."

"I want to."

"Don't you think you should lie down?"

"Don't patronize me, Booth. I'm not a child."

Their little tussle was disrupted by Parker's laugh. "You guys are worse than mom and Brent."

Booth sighed and sat back. "Rebecca brought Parker by, I hope you don't mind."

"You could have gone to Rebecca's to spend Christmas, Booth. I wouldn't have minded."

"I would have. You're my... and... you know, it wouldn't be right to leave you here by yourself on Christmas."

"Partner," Parker said.

Both adults looked over at the boy with the bag of Fritos.

"You're Bones' partner, dad."

Booth nodded. It wasn't that he was at a loss for words, but it was just that somehow that word wasn't quite right. Not any more, anyway.

When Rebecca had brought Parker by the hospital that morning, Booth had realized something. He was fairly certain that he had never been told about the baby that was coming. Honestly, he was still trying to adjust to it himself.

He had put the quarters into the snack machine in the hospital's cafeteria, all the while keeping an eye on Parker. He had cleared his throat a few times.

"What... what do you want for Christmas, Parker?"

"Is this a trick question, dad?"

Dang, he was sharp, Booth thought. "No, no. Nothing like that, Buddy."

"OK. In that case... I want a gun."

"Wow."

"It's OK, dad, you don't have to say anything. I know you're gonna say I'm too little and stuff."

"I think you're right." The Fritos fell and Parker had retrieved it.

"Why are we at the hospital, dad? It's it Dr. Brennan? I once saw this show called Cops and this guy and his partner, like, went into this house and there were a bunch of guys in there and they shot him. He was OK cuz he had a vest on and stuff, but is that what happened?"

"When, uh..." Booth had put a bill into the soda machine. Two sodas fell down and he had grabbed them in one hand. "When was the last time you saw Dr. Brennan?"

"I dunno," Parker had shrugged, drinking his soda. "It was a long, long time ago, though."

They had walked several strides in silence until they were outside of Brennan's door. Booth then knelt. "Look, Buddy, uh... Bones is gonna have a baby and that baby wants to come early, so she's here to make sure he stays in a bit longer."

Parker had drunk his soda and digested the new information. "Is he... is the baby gonna be yours too?"

Booth then stood so abruptly that Parker had begun to think he had said something wrong. Booth then put his hands on his hips, scratched his head, then knelt again. "Yeah... yeah, he is. I'm sorry I didn't tell ya before, but, uh... Well, there's no excuse for it. I'm sorry, Buddy. I should've gold you."

"I'm not mad, dad," Parker said.

"You're not?"

Parker chuckled, "Huh, no!"

"No?"

"Can I go say hi to Dr. Brennan now, cuz my legs are starting to hurt."

"Sure," Booth had replied, bewildered.

Fast forward and Parker was opening his present for Booth and Brennan. Booth laughed as Parker marveled at his gift.

"That's not child approved," Brennan whispered.

Booth shook his head, "Look at him, he loves it."

"Rebecca is going to have an ulcer," Brennan whispered back.

"It's not armed," Booth whispered back, then grinned again at Parker and the antique grenade.

Brennan rolled her eyes and shook her head.

Booth looked at Brennan and smiled at her, realizing that even Temperance Brennan could not fight anthropological inevitabilities such as maternal instincts.

Brennan caught that grin and smiled back, "What?"

Booth stood up. "I got something for you."

"I... your present is in my closet at home," Brennan replied.

"No, Bones. This isn't the kind of thing where you expect something in return. This is... it's special," Booth took the little box from his jacket pocket and sat back down beside Brennan. Parker stood by Brennan's right shoulder, Booth to her left. Their hands touched as he put the little box in her hands. For a moment, that 'lightning in a bottle' jumped out and zinged up her arm. She had to catch her breath, but couldn't help but to feel dizzy yet when she realized she was holding a little jewelery box, the size of a ring... or earrings? Or a ring.

Had he found her ring and repackaged it? Or was he going to go and do something incredibly stupid and she would have to tell him no way and break his heart?

"Booth, I--"

"Open it, Bones. Just-- trust me."

Brennan opened it.

And she was surprised that the contents of the box were disappointing.

A golden chain that ended in little red garnet. But why was she so disappointed?

"It's a birthstone. It's... our baby's birthstone. For January."

"It's December."

"And I told you, I have faith. So, it's January. The guy asked me if I wanted to get insurance even. He said that it would allow me to change the stone out if it's the wrong one and I said 'It's the right one'." Booth took the necklace out of the box and put it around her neck. He may or may not have taken his time slipping the necklace around her neck. It was just as torturous to him as it was to her, feeling his hands on the soft parts of her neck. And it did help that she hadn't been touched in many months. Then again, even if she had... it was Booth and he was so... so...

Booth's cell phone rang. He had to break contact. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done.

He took the call in the hallway.

Parker then took his father's seat beside Brennan. "I like it," he said. "It looks nice on you."

"Thank you, Parker."

"Can I name the baby?"

"Uh... how about one of the names?"

Parker thought this over. "OK."

In the hallway, Booth hung up the cell phone slowly. There was an uneasiness in the way he walked back into the room and looked at Brennan.

"What? What's wrong?"

----

_Thanks again, everyone! :)_


	22. Chapter 22

Brennan's smile melted as quickly as it had appeared on her face. The look on Booth's face was serious and painful.

"Hey, Buddy," Booth took out a bill from his wallet and handed it to Brennan. "Bones wants some Fritos, too."

"No, I don't."

"Yeah, Bones, you do."

Brennan was slow to catch on, but then she grinned, "Oh I get it--"

Booth shuffled the boy out the door before he could question what they were talking about. He closed the door slowly behind Parker.

"What's going on, Booth?"

"What's--what's Angela's boy's name?"

"Brayden."

"Surname, Bones."

Brennan thought for a moment. "Devlin."

"I just got a call saying that they're sending out DC SWAT team to run a search warrant on a guy named Devlin."

"Is it the same one?"

Booth put on his jacket. "I sure hope not, Bones."

"Why are they calling in the FBI?"

"They need more guys. I'm 'more guys' and... if it is Angela's boy... he'll be OK."

When Booth had left the room, Brennan tried to dial Angela. She tried again, but nobody picked up. She texted her, Are you safe? and could do nothing more but wait. Thankfully the wait was spent quickly because of Parker's friendly chatter.

--

Angela sat down in the car beside Hodgins. From her face, Hodgins had to ask, "You OK, Ange?"

"Yeah," she replied. "Let's just go."

He leaned over and kissed her tenderly. In that time, Hodgins was (amazingly) able to think. "Oh, wait," he said, reaching into his breast pocket. He retrieved a little Hot Wheels car, circa 1987, still in its original packaging.

"When did you get this?"

"I... I found time..."

Angela narrowed her eyes at him. "You already had this, didn't you?"

"No!" he replied emphatically.

"Sure..." Angela grabbed the little Hot Wheels from Hodgins, stepped out of the vehicle, and walked toward the little brick house on the corner of the street.

--

Eight blocks away, Booth was pulling a 40-pound heavy vest over his head and strapping and latching it down to his person. He stood in a large group of SWAT and FBI personnel. The group totaled over forty officers.

The man who seemed to be in the lead of the operation was clothed in black like the entire group, had a large assault rifle in his hand and was putting on a kevlar helmet when he met with the group. He seemed to know everyone of the FBI agents by name, although he probably had worked with one or two of them in his career. He shook a few hands, including Booth's before he spoke, "Thanks for coming here today. I'm Senior Corporal Officer Trent, DC SWAT, 'preciate it. Thanks," he said. His voice was deep, but hinted of Southern roots. "Good to have homicide, Agent Booth," he acknowledged. "Listen up, y'all," he commanded. Everyone was all ears. "Gather close." Those who couldn't gather close listened on radios and wielded weapons. A few men listened from atop an APC armored vehicle.

"Suspect's a white male, 147 pounds, brown hair, brown eyes, six-one in height. Narcotics been watchin' the residence for several days. Female companion, white female with a history of trafficking drugs and weapons, changed her name which threw detectives off the trail for a bit 'til now. Five-one, 110 pounds, blond hair, brown eyes. There is at least one child, male, two years of age. Multiple people been out and in the residence throughout the day buyin'. Reports that the suspect has at least one AK-47, possible multiple weapons. Alright, we clear? I'll pass it on to tactical, being fronted by FBI guy Lennox. Special Agent Lennox," he gave the nod to the agent standing next to Booth, a man he had known throughout his career.

During the overview, Booth could only think of the little boy inside of the house. How could this have happened? How could the system be so fallible? He thought back to his partner's words from long ago about the foster care system. It was strained and underworked. And these were the casualties of such a system: a boy being bounced from unstable home to unstable home with no respite to call his own.

Lennox began pointing to a diagram of the building and explaining the entry points. "We'll overwhelm them from all angles," he said. "Flash bangs aren't an option, same with pulls as it could be harmful to the kid It makes things a little rough. Gotta get in there and preserve the evidence before they flush it, but we can't hurt the kid." He thought around the conundrum for several minutes. "We'll go with the pulls and hope for the best." Without the element of surprise, the drug evidence could be destroyed. But once the boy was added to the equasion, it made things very messy. Finally, the decision to put hooks, called "pulls" on the steel cages over the front door and the front window. Those pulls would be attached to an APC. Once the vehicle backed up, the windows and doors would be torn from their frames, allowing for entry by the teams. Lennox looked at Booth. "Agent Booth, you'll be with Team Charlie. Thanks for coming out here. I know your wife's expecting so we'll make sure you get home to her safe. That's why you'll be entering through the back of the residence." He patted Booth's shoulder.

Booth didn't blink, "Where's the boy?"

Lennox held up the map of the house, "Here is the bedroom, but there's no way of telling--"

Booth squinted as he thought. "I'll go through the front with Alpha."

"You sure of that?"

"Yeah."

Lennox nodded and made the signal.

The team rolled to their positions.

--

Angela walked blithely to the front door, this time with renewed hope that she would get to wish Brayden a Merry Christmas.

The same process as before repeated itself. She yelled to enter the house. After several minutes, the door creeped open and two sunken brown eyes appeared again. "Hell, what time is it?"

"Little after ten," Angela replied. "I forgot to give Brayden this. Actually, it's from Hodgins, my--my husband."

"Listen, we're a bit busy. How 'bout later?"

Angela couldn't hide the disappointmetn on her face. "Fine, how about you just take it to him after he wakes up?"

The woman stood stiffly for a moment, then opened the rest of the door and stuck her hand through the steel cage.

Their hands met at the toy.

That's when the house began to fill with frightened shouts.

"Cops!"

Debbie's face flushed scarlet. She was quick to react. She snatched Angela's hand and with her arm, she pinned Angela agains thte bars, then stuck a gun to her head. It all happened so quickly that Angela didn't even know what was happening. There was a part of her brain that was still trying to process why they were yelling, "Cops!"

The APC stormed through the fence, tearing it down like it was made of toothpicks. The yard flooded with SWAT and FBI, swathed in black and armed with assault rifles.

"Nice and easy," Debbie breathed in a shaky voice.

Team Alpha immediately relayed that there was a hostage to the rest of the teams. There was going to be no violent breaching of the front entry today.

"Oh, no," Booth whispered, recognizing the woman at the front door.

Angela's heart was racing. What was going on? Where was Brayden? Was he safe? Was this her last day on earth? If so, then what would happen to Brayden?

"With her past," Trent said, "she's extremely unstable. Breaching the rear entry could end in the death of the hostage"

"That's Angela Montenegro," Booth said, hardly believing the words coming out of his mouth.

"You know her?"

"My partner works with her at the Jeffersonian." Booth wiped the sweat from the bridge of his nose and let the sunglasses settle on his face again.

"Bullseye, can we get a clear shot?" Trent asked of his radio.

A minute later, the SWAT guy on the neighboring rooftop called 'Bullseye' replied, "No clear shot at this moment."

A nearby narcotics officer cursed under his breath, "There goes the evidence."

"It ain't about evidence no more," Trent snapped back. He turned and wiped his sweaty brow.

It was mass confusion, from Booth's point of view. His 'gut' had led him to a place he never wanted to be. A person he cared for deeply was in danger and worse case scenario: would lose her life.

Booth thought of Brennan. He imagined her falling back into her shell never to return. He thought of Brayden, forever stuck in the foster care system. He thought of... Hodgins. Where was Hodgins? He looked around quickly, finally seeing Hodgins laying on his stomach in the street, hands zip-tied behind his back, gun to his head.

Booth started to walk toward him, but then decided against it. Somehow he thought that if it weren't for the fact that Angela was part of a hostage situation and his possible step son was inside of a drug house, Hodgins would enjoy such a mark on his record... or at least in his memory. Booth looked around. Snow was beginning to fall. No wonder the sniper couldn't get a clear shot! If he were the sniper...

If he were the sniper?

Booth ran over to Trent and offered his opinion and a quick verbal resumé.

"Stand down, Bullseye," Trent said to his radio. "Do what you do," he told Booth.

Booth nodded, his mouth dry from anxiety.

"Make 'em hot," a SWAT guy said to Booth as he passed. Once on the other side of the APC, Booth ducked and ran to the bushes and around the back of the neighbor's house. Bullseye, a tall young African American man, nodded at Booth as he came down from the building. He nodded at Booth. "Do whatcha do," he said in a deep gravelly voice.

Booth nodded back. Then he asked that the ladder be moved one building over.

"That's a risky shot, man," Bullseye said as he and another officer held the ladder for Booth.

"Big risk, big reward," Booth replied.

"Dude's got balls," Bullseye whispered to his colleague.

--

Angela was almost too afraid to turn her head to see Debbie. "Where--where's Bray--den?" she asked.

"That's none yer cocern right about now." She whispered several curse words. The house was suddenly silent. The drugs were flushed. Several of the 'Christmas guests' had stuffed themselves under beds, floor boards, and in closets.

Over the loud speaker, the negotiator could be heard echoing down the street. "We don't want to harm you, Debbie. Why don't you put down the gun and we can end this peacefully. Put down the gun and let the hostage go."

Angela began to blink hard, feeling that she was losing consciousness against her will. The fact that she was under such a high stress situation and blood and oxygen were being kept from making their usual rounds by Debbie's Meth-induced grip around her neck forced her to feel woozy and light headed. Angela blinked hard. "Where? Where?"

"Shut up," Debbie said. "Just, just shut up. I ain't leavin' here without a fight. I'm not."

--

A chilly winter wind whipped around Booth as he inched onto the roof. The shingles were basically hundreds of tiny sheets of ice and packed snow. The snow that had fallen the night before had melted and was beginning to freeze again as the sun was falling behind the buildings. Everywhere but on L Street the world was celebrating Christmas Day (at least, those who do), but here, Hodgins was in the back of a patrol car and Angela was celebrating their nuptials with a handgun to her head.

Booth slipped several times, but found his spot behind a tall brick chimney. A tall withered oak stood in the way of him and the house where Angela was being held hostage. It was next to impossible: icy winds, slippery vantage point, tree in the way, but Booth could only think of one thing. He wanted to make sure Angela, his friend, was alive to be the 'auntie' to his child. Sure, he had always counted Angela among his friends, but as he set up the sniper and adjusted his scope, he began to realize how much Angela meant to him. She was definitely his friend. And it had fallen into his hands to make sure she could live to see tomorrow.

Booth took a breath and aimed.

Several minutes passed before he found the perfect position.

The negotiator gave it one more try. It echoed from the buildings with their multicolored lights and ornamented front yards. "I can't stay here all day, Debbie. We've all go families to go home to. I need you to drop the weapon and come out with your hands up. I can't secure your safety otherwise. Drop the weapon. Let the hostage go."

"I got the shot," Booth whispered.

After a few minutes, it came back to him that he could take the shot when ready.

Booth squeezed the trigger.

The woman fell to the ground and the place was stormed once again. Angela was taken away by a female SWAT officer. Booth could tell that she was crying and distraught. Angela was... kitties and puppies an ducklings. She wans't guns and drugs and snipers. Booth's jaws tightened. Then his eyes fell to the woman's body on the ground, blood seeping from her body. He had taken another life.

Another life.

He bowed his head. He may have whispered a prayer or just caught his breath. It's hard to say. But when he raised his head again, an FBI agent was walking out of the house with a little boy in his arms. Behind him were five or six men and women in zip-tie handcuffs. Angela broke away from the officer who had her and ran to Brayden. She took him into her arms and just sobbed as she held him. He was safe. She was safe. Another officer uncuffed Hodgins. He ran up to them and held them close. They were too far away to tell, but Booth knew that he was crying, too. He knew this because he would have cried, too.

From the depths of despair that taking a life had brought him to, to the tops of the hills seeing the family that had been created.

From the ashes their family had bloomed.

Booth nodded. Then he smiled a little.

----

_Thanks again!!!! *^.^*_


	23. Chapter 23

It isn't every day that someone finds the person they want to spend the rest of their life with. Of course, some people find that person every day and they just don't do anything about it.

***********

By Monday, Brennan was waiting on her bed in room 309. She was already suffering from a mild case of Cabin Fever and was hungrily poring over a thick text book that Booth had brought from her office. Outside, the world was a bride clothed in a silvery white veil. When did that transformation take place? From matronly and bare early winter to youthful shimmering winter?

Booth came out of the little bathroom in a new suit. He grinned at himself and did a slick little turn, arms spread. "Well?" he asked.

Brennan put down her book and looked him over studiously. Just when he was afraid she would say something to the negative, she nodded and said, "It looks very nice on you, Booth."

"Well, thanks, but-- I thought you'd be a little quicker, y'know?"

"No, I don't know."

Booth laughed it off and brought back two ties. One was blue and one was red. "Which one?"

"Either one would do."

"See, I was thinking that the red would say, 'Hey, I'm glad to be here!' but the blue, now, the blue would say, 'I'm serious about this.' Whuddya think?"

"Ties don't speak."

"No, I meant the spirit of the tie. Which one?"

Brennan looked at them a little longer. "The red."

"Yeah?"

"I'm sure Angela and Hodgins would like to know that you're glad to be there. I may not be able to speak 'Tie', but I do speak 'Thai'." Brennan smiled widely at her joke. "Did you get it? Tie, Thai? It was a play on words."

"Yeah, thanks for clarifying that one for me, Bones. OK, the red." Booth slid the tie around his neck.

Brennan watched patiently as he tried to tie it without a mirror. "Let me do it."

"You know how?"

"I've tied a few in my lifetime, yes." Brennan swept her hands around his neck... and for a moment things slowed down. The world was very different than the one that flashed before him. It was like a dream. Vague and ethereal. A memory forgotten. He almost expected her to be wearing a white blouse...? Was that right? And then they would be standing in a room that they called their own... And then she would pull him close and kiss him. Was it a brush with an alternate universe, parallel worlds, the way things ought to be? It seemed so real that for a moment... It's so funny, he thought, how things between them have gone from total hatred to tolerance to unbridaled lust to this... now he loved her. He knew it and he could never again deny it.

Brennan noticed his smile as she finished tying. Then she patted his chest and refused to meet his eyes. If Booth didn't know any better, he would have thought that she was in the same parallel universe for a moment.

"Booth," she whispered, hardly able to find her voice.

"Yeah?" he was just as quiet, as if he was afraid that if he spoke too loudly, the world would disappear and the memories would cease to come together. Why did this seem so perfect? So... so repeated, but so new?

"It's almost time," she said with a stronger voice.

Booth patted his tie awkwardly. "Thanks, Bones."

"It was my pleasure."

Booth did another spin.

"Have you thought about what you're going to say?" she asked as he drew his jacket over his broad shoulders.

He scrunched his chin as he thought. "I was thinking about how I would say something about how they bribed me--" Brennan didn't understand the intended joke. "I'll... I'll tell them how they belong together, Bones. More than any other people I've ever seen. There's unconditional love there. There's an understanding that as long as they have breath in their bodies, they will never, ever abandon one another, Bones." Brennan didn't know the art of 'reading between the lines', but she found it hard to be under his gaze.

"I don't believe in love," she said, falling back on an old adage of hers. It was safe there, tucked between stubbornness and repetition.

"It doesn't matter what you believe in, Bones. It exists." He grabbed his wallet from the night stand. "I should go, Bones. It isn't every day someone finds the love of her life... and Angela's found two in the same year, so... I should go now." He turned in the doorway. "I was wrong," he added thoughtfully. "There are those who find their soulmate every day... but they just do anything about it." He smiled half sadly and then smiled brightly. "I'll tell you how it goes afterward. Keep your cellphone on."

***

The courtroom was much emptier than the judge had expected when he walked in that morning. He knew that it was after a major holiday, but he had at least expected an opposing party. Instead, he saw Ms. Montenegro (with whom he was familiar with... he had seen her on a few cases previously) and Dr. Hodgins (with whom he was also familiar) and in the arms of Ms. Montenegro was a sleepy headed little boy. He was dressed in a size 24 month tuxedo and his hair--freshly cut by Angela herself the evening before--was parted adorably. They looked like a happy family.

"All rise. The Honorable Judge Halbert Vonderburg presiding. You may take your seats," the court reporter announced. She had a surprisingly booming voice for being such a petite little woman. She stood no more than four-foot-eleven.

Judge Vondderburg took a seat and reviewed the information quickly, sure that he had missed at least a major tidbit of information.

Hodgins' attorney, Mr. Sands, was quick to see the confusion on the Judge's face. He stood, "Judge, may I approach?"

The judge nodded and Mr. Sands stood, motioning that everyone could follow. The judge nodded and motioned with three fingers that they may.

Mr. Sands was a nervous man--twitchy, you might say. The truth was that he suffered from a very mild form of Tourettes Syndrome, but it was so controlled that most people just thought he was a little ADD or OCD. He popped his neck twice, scratched his head and said, "Christmas Day, the child's guardians, Mr. and Mrs. Devlin were involved in an incident. The FBI and SWAT teams were called to serve a drug warrant and as a consequence, Mrs. Devlin was killed and Mr. Devlin was taken into custody. His trial date is set for January 11th, Twenty-Ten."

This was Ms. Fourette, the state appointed attorney for the Devlins didn't say much.

The judge flipped through the paper work, slipping bifocals on his aging nose. "And -Fen is serving a sentence for prostitution and possession?" He shook his head sadly, but then looked up. It wasn't unusual in his profession to come across blood thirsty custody battles. It wasn't unusual to sentence a mother or father to jail for a deadly addiction to drugs. But before him, he felt that something good could come of this. At home, his own wife and three grown daughters waited for him, one was a freshman in college, the other two were a junior and sophomore in high school. There weren't many people in this world who were as lucky and blessed as he was to have a loving family surrounding him. And there was this innocent child--this beautiful innocent child who only needed love. But harder questions had to be asked if he was to do his job. "I think," he said, taking his glasses off, "that this has turned into an adoption case and... I couldn't be happier." He folded his arms, "First of all, I'm sorry, Ms. Montenegro, that the Foster System did not protect you or Brayden. It is not without his faults... but it is a necessary system and it must be in place to protect orphans. Sadly, there isn't enough money to go around to make it a better system. There are angels, Ms. Montenegro," he said. Angela looked over at Miss Willis and smiled. She smiled back. "I just wish there could have been more in your path--for Brayden's sake." He put his glasses on his nose. "How about we take this to chambers?"

In the judge's chambers, the judge had to ask the harder questions to the couple as the rest of the group waited outside. The judge smiled at the sleeping child in Angela's arms. Hodgins caressed his head lovingly. "Brayden Devlin has been diagnosed with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. My concern is that he may become difficult to handle with coming years. He may act out or have difficulty learning. I want to make sure of your... your commitment to this adoption before I sign anything--you can back out at any time, of course, no questions asked--"

"Stop right there," Angela said, trying to leave out a vicious tone in her voice that just begged to be there. "This little boy... he's the love of my life. He's the reason I wake up every morning. I look forward to him learning new things--I don't even care if it's slower than other children his age--I know things are going to be harder for him, but that's what a family is for. To be here and love each other and help each other along the way. Without someone to be there for him, be by his side, and tell him that he is loved and he can achieve anything he puts his heart to, where would he be? I have faith, Judge. I have faith because I love him."

The judge scribbled something down, stood up without another word and walked out of the chambers, his face straight and emotionless. Booth had been sitting on a bench outside of the courtroom when the judge appeared. He stood, "So?" he asked. The judge walked straight up to Booth, not saying anything to the crowd of lawyers and social workers. "Special Agent Booth," he smiled. "I've been around for nearly five decades and I've learned a thing or two in that time. It's not very often that someone in this world finds a soul mate. Sometimes we search in vain when they're right in front of us. Sometimes we know this, but we're utterly stupid... and maybe a little stubborn." He put a piece of paper into Booth's hand.

"Judge?"

"You can give your friends the good news. They're a family now." He smiled, then leaned in, "Next time I see you and your partner testify, I want none of this funny business--"

"Funny business?"

"Just. Partners." He smiled, winked, and whistled as he walked away.

Booth stood a little dumbfounded for a minute or two. He had probably only been in three or four cases where Judge Vonderburg had presided. Was he that obvious? He laughed softly and walked into the judge's chambers. Hodgins stood up. Angela turned around. "Where did Judge Vonderburg go?" Hodgins asked.

"Home. I guess." Booth handed Hodgins the paper that the judge gave him. "He said to give you the good news. You're a family."

Hodgins took the paper from his hand, hardly able to hold it as his hands shook. Angela stood and looked over his shoulder as Hodgins read.

"All you have to do is sign on the dotted line," Booth said.

"Oh my God," Angela said. "I think I need to sit down."

Booth stood at the doorway. He was happy for his friends, but at the same time, he felt a million miles away from their happiness. He closed the door softly just as Angela started to cry with joy.

----

_Thanks! :) :) :)  
_


	24. Chapter 24

It was a January of fleeting snowstorms that quickly melted and froze. Swift winter winds whistled through the treetops, laden with sleet and snow. There was at least one pileup on the freeway to the hospital, but somehow he was able to keep his hands steady enough, despite the cacophony that thundered in his head, to drive safely.

His feet hardly hit the ground as he flew through the coal-black parking lot and to the maternity wing. Cam only had a moment to react to his sudden presence and point toward the delivery room. Booth muttered a breathy 'thanks' and ran past her and into the room. He didn't notice Angela's look of desperate worry that painted her face. He didn't notice the black funeral countenances on the nurses' faces or the cold look of Brennan's hand-picked top-of-his-field obstetrician.

All he saw was that Brennan was in pain and he wanted to do everything in his power to make it stop. For the first time in his life, he felt helpless. He couldn't shoot the guy who was torturing her. He couldn't save the day by riding up on a white steed.

He wasn't the FBI partner as he lowered himself and held her hand. He looked at her in a way that nearly made Angela feel like a stranger in the room, despite the chaos and the fact that _nothing was private_ when a man was ogling her best friend's vag.

Booth squeezed her hand and they were the only two in the room. It was one of those magical moments that only those two could create or two people who are meant to be together. A veil fell around them and her clear blue eyes steadied on his. "You can do this, Bones," he whispered.

"It's not supposed to be like this," she replied, looking away. The veil dissipated as Booth looked in the direction Brennan was looking. For the first time he noticed the looks on the faces of the professionals. They didn't look like they were witnessing the birth of a child; they looked as if they were standing in line to 'view the remains' at a mortuary.

Booth released Brennan's hand. "Keep an eye on her," he said to Angela. Ordinary words, but in them, they implied that Angela was left to watch over a King's Treasure. She nodded and took Bren's hand.

The doctor was discussing something in hushed tones with a nurse. He heard the words, "When push comes to shove, we'll just vacuum it out."

_It? Where did Brennan find this jackass?_

"Why aren't you over there?" Booth asked.

The doctor seemed to be taken off guard. Then he calmly recollected himself and said, "Well, I can check her again, but I just did. It might take a while. In ordinary cases, the baby helps out, you know?"

Booth felt a chill course through his veins. He could hardly speak, but he found his voice long enough to ask, "Is the baby dead?"

The doctor didn't seem to know what to say, to Booth's surprise. He floundered a quarter of a second before replying, "There's a heartbeat."

Booth could hardly believe his ears. The doctor was counting the baby as dead before he or she was even born! "Excuse me?"

"Your child is preterm—"

"My child is on time."

The doctor grabbed Booth's arm and took him aside—he was lucky he didn't lose his arm!—and said, "For a healthy child, yes, but for a child with a disfigurement such as an ophalocele, each day the child is born before his or her due date significantly decreases chances of survival."

"And for a kid who's on time? Do you deliver him like this?" he gestured toward Brennan.

"Vaginally?" He studied his face. "No."

"I want you to get that O.R. ready."

"I don't suggest that for this situation."

"Why? Because you think our baby is going to die?" Booth's face was hot with anger.

"I think you need to calm down, sir," a nurse said testily.

"Because it's an unnecessary risk of infection when your child only has a less than one percent chance of survival. I think you need to be thinking about your partner," the doctor said. "I happen to know her as well as you do and I know that she would appreciate the logic in this decision."

"I don't think you know _my partner_," Booth whispered in a low, dangerous tone, his teeth gritting. "You need to get that O.R. ready." Booth gave the doctor one last threatening look, then went over to Brennan. Her eyes were closed. She was obviously in a lot of pain. Perspiration beaded along her hairline. The doctor watched for a minute, then stalked out of the room. The nurses began messing with her I.V. "It's gonna be OK, Bones."

Brennan had obviously heard the entire argument Booth had had with the doctor. She whispered between contractions, "It's not logical."

Booth's brow was wrinkled with worry. He smoothed moist hairs from her forehead with his fingertips tenderly, "Sometimes… love isn't logical, Bones."

She smiled sincerely, despite the pain that was wrenching her muscles. "I want to meet our baby."

_Our baby!_ Booth's imagination raced through the scenarios. _Their baby_ would walk, breathe, talk, crawl… or they would have a tiny casket and tiny flowers in a week. He squeezed his eyes shut, shunning those thoughts as if they were a black cat being thrown across his path by cynical doctors. "Me, too, Bones."

The next thirty minutes were a blur of surgeons and doctors. He felt like an automaton as he scrubbed his hands and let a nurse pull scrubs over his clothes and tie them behind his neck.

A gruesome image of Brennan laid out like she was being crucified made him shudder and pray that it wasn't irony and that it was just an overworked imagination being fed on 5 hours of sleep. Brennan looked frightened as he sat near her head, a blue sheet blocking either of their views from the proceeding surgery. He thought about the doctor's nurse as Booth signed the paperwork for the cesarean, "And y'all understand that this isn't the doctor's recommendation and it can result in the death to your partner AND/OR your baby." She stared at him like he was sending Brennan to the slaughter as he scribbled down his signature on the dotted line.

Brennan remembered laying on the table and trying not to think about the things she would miss if she never held her baby… chubby, pink, dimple-kneed, toothless laughter… a tear dripped, following the curves of her eye, to her earlobe, and—two warm fingers caught the tear. Then—_then his lips touched hers_. It was a kiss that was built in sadness and hope and fear. It wouldn't be spoken of for years to come in quiet reminisce.

She felt painful pressure and tugging. She was numb from a very strong spinal, but the dull pain still cut through. She tightened her jaw, determined not to say something. It wasn't 'logical', but there was a fear that they would knock her out if she said anything and she would miss what would be statistically the only moments of her child's life. Booth seemed so hopeful. She didn't tell him that it wasn't likely the baby would live—she didn't even tell herself that, although she knew it very well.

So very well that it scared her to imagine the hole that would be left if… if…

"Time?" the doctor asked.

"12:03."

The room was chillingly silent. Booth waited for the announcement. Brennan's ears were strained to hear a cry. When nobody said a thing, when nobody laid the baby in Brennan's arms, Booth stood up to look over the sheet.

The nurse was affixing a pink cap on a blue infant and was beginning to walk toward him. "What are you doing?" he asked. "You're not even going to suction her lungs or give her air?"

The nurse was young and looked white with horror. She had expected to see a parent upset, knowing that his child would be born dead (this was, after all, what the senior nurse had told her to do!), but combativeness was something she hadn't prepared herself for. "There, there's no need."

Booth stood up and crossed to her. He took the baby back to the warming lamps and snatched the suction bulb.

An older nurse walked over there, "I think you need to leave, sir."

"You haven't even given her a chance," Booth said. He unwrapped her gently.

"I can try to give her some air," the younger nurse said.

"Why don't you leave, Jenny?" the older nurse snapped.

Booth looked at the younger nurse. "I could use your help, Jenny."

The younger nurse looked to her superior, then to the little blue baby under the warming lamps. She took a quick step forward and began directing everyone around her. Within moments, she was giving the baby air and suctioning. An ICU doctor had been called and was jogging into the O.R. with a posse of staff tagging along behind him…

And the little blue baby was now pink—pinker than the little cap that covered her tiny head. Just before they put her into the little plastic incubator, with all of her little wires and monitors on her teeny little body, Booth touched her little head—it was smaller than his hand!—and so perfect! The little cap was too big for her head and was easily pushed off to one cockeyed angle, revealing copper-penny curls.

Booth smiled sadly as he fixed the hat, "'Til tomorrow, Lucy."

-----------------

_Thanks for reading. :) Sorry for the delay in new chapter! School has begun and I'm in my senior year... and oh, but it's stressful! Bones comes back on September 17th! Less than 2 weeks away!_

_-ForensicMama_


	25. Chapter 25

Angela was wearing that old terry cloth robe of Hodgins' (the one with the hole under the right armpit). She found it amazing that he had so much money, but refused to get a new bathrobe—but there was comfort in it that she relished in when she wore it. Brennan was still asleep and Brayden was sleeping soundly on the hospital window seat. His little body was covered by a fleece blanket that had come in the mail from her dad. It had attached to it a little note that said, "To my Grandson: May you give your mom every bit of trouble she gave me when she was 2." She had smiled at him calling Brayden his grandson without a second thought. But there was something else she had wanted to tell everyone… something she had wanted to sing on the rooftops… but she hadn't wanted to say a thing. Not yet. Not until she knew that Booth and Brennan's baby was going to be OK.

She watched as the shadows of snowflakes fell on the window panes and over his little body.

"Brayden," she whispered.

She watched him sleep for several minutes until she heard Brennan stir. She had hoped that Booth could be that first face she would look at, but he was in the NICU with little "Lucy".

Angela held her hand. "How ya feelin', sweetie?"

Brennan made a face and whispered, "I feel… pain."

"Do you need more morphine? You have a drip thingy here…"

"No. Don't touch, Angela"

"Sure?"

Brennan nodded. "How…" she could hardly ask for fear of what the answer would be. "How is the baby?"

"Lucy's in the Nick-U," Angela said. "That's where Booth's at now. He asked me to stay here while he stayed with her for a while."

"Lucy?" Brennan asked in a heavy, medicated voice. Although the conversation about names had come up on several occasions, no choice had been made. Although, believe me, there was a list of family and friend names and Googled names from Booth and an itemized list of over 100 names which were both alphabetized and scored on a number of criteria from Brennan. Lists were compiled into a master list, but no amount of bickering had ever solved that issue.

"Alright," Booth had said, whipping his sunglasses from his eyes with gusto fired by annoyance, "what about Madison? You can't have much to say about that. It's strong. It's for a boy and a girl. One name solves both problems! Bingo!"

Brennan scrunched her face. Booth knew it was coming. "I don't care for unisex names," she said. "For that very reason. It's confusing on legal documents and not to mention it doesn't sound very professional and I'm not even going to touch on the fact that it's the number four most popular name on the 2008 census for newborn girls. It would be hard to have a unique identity if you're one of twenty girls in your class named Madison. She would be Madison B. throughout her childhood. And as for it being a boy's name, it's hardly ever used for a boy any more. The poor child would be outcast."

Booth's mind had stopped at the initial 'B'. Had they decided on a last name? He was almost afraid to bring up the subject. From what he remembered (vaguely), before the surgery he had agreed that the child would be hers--what was he thinking???--but he wanted very much for it to be his child as well. He hoped she meant 'Booth', but he didn't press the subject. _Cross one bridge at a time,_ he told himself.

There was an uncomfortable silence before Brennan said, "Tristan."

Booth scoffed, laughed, and asked in an amused voice, "For a boy? The kid would live in his locker. No way."

"Evelyn," Brennan said after a beat.

"Are you also giving birth to a _walker_?"

Another uncomfortable silence.

Booth said, "Wyatt." She gave him a questioning glance. "For a boy."

"I'll think about it."

"Emma," Booth said.

"Number one most popular name in 2008."

They pulled up to the residence in question. The subject was dropped for the time being. And now Brennan remembered that since the baby's intrauterine diagnosis, more thought had been put to worry and quiet nights calculating probabilities and percentages in her secretly frazzled mind than to naming their child. Booth, on the other hand, had never forgotten, but had given Brennan space. She never let it show, but he knew how much sleep she was losing over the little infant that she was carrying and his or her outcome.

Angela smiled. "Booth said you guys hadn't decided on a name and since she—oh, she has really beautiful little red curls. She's--_perfect_, sweetie. I think that's where Booth got it. You know, 'Loo-see, I'm hooo-ooome!'"

Brennan gave her a puzzled look, "Aren't we--?"

"It's a quote, Bren… from _I Love Lucy._ Listen, sweetie, I'll Netflix it for ya. But, I think it's a darling little name and it just _fits_ her." Angela stood and walked to her bag and pulled out a digital camera. "You've been out all day. You reacted badly to the pain meds, but they said once you're ready you can see her." She brought the camera over to Brennan and squatted beside her. "It looks bad with that little bag thingy over her intestines, but it's meant to keep it moist…"

"I know, Ange," Brennan said sleepily.

Angela let Brennan take the camera from her. Out of all of the photos, Booth only looked up and smiled once at the camera—a sleepy, weary, worried smile. But in the rest, his eyes never left the tiny infant in the incubator. She was so small! In fact—"How much did she weigh?"

"Just under six pounds and eighteen inches."

Red hair! Brennan had never considered that genetic combination. She had assumed that the baby would be blond and brown-eyed or a brunette with brown eyes… or possibly blue eyes could win out… but red hair! That was a combination she had never considered in… in all of the time she had considered that. Not too long, of course.

Only… only in the past few years, if she was completely honest with herself… since that first thought crept into her mind and she cultivated it in secret.

"I never thought you two would make a redhead," Angela mused absently… revealing that she had given it a lot more thought than either cared to admit to, herself.

Brennan smiled and began to move away from the bed. Angela looked startled, "Sweetie, sweetie! Let me call a nurse!"

A minute later, a nurse was in with a wheelchair, "Wanting to see your baby?"

"I don't need a wheelchair," Brennan informed her, moving painfully toward the door.

The nurse looked as if she was on her tenth hour (which she probably was) so she wasn't afraid to snap, "You've just had major abdominal surgery."

"I'm not a parapalegic; am I?"

The nurse glared at her.

"And don't you agree that movement helps to prevent blood clots and other post-surgery complications?"

"Fine, but you might wanna up your morphine and let me get you a walker." The walker was flatly refused, but Brennan did yield to a hand from each Angela and the nurse on her elbows. Even with the pain medication trailing her, it was insanely painful (not that she let it show on her face).

"You wanna take a break, sweetie?" Angela asked, shifting Brayden on her hip. He was closing in on three years old, but he was still smaller than the average. But he was growing! And thriving!

"No," Brennan said.

Angela buttoned her lips and decided to let Brennan and Booth have alone time with their little girl, so she waited outside of the NICU doors and read a _National Geographic Magazine_ from three years before. She paused on a story about 'stone babies'. Her eyes grew momentarily wide with horror. Then she opted for the _Elle Magazine_ with the dog-eared pages.

Brennan stood in the doorway for a few seconds. Something in her wanted to take everything in. Until the nurse pulled up a chair and Booth turned and noticed her. Angela looked up and watched him gently embrace her and kiss her forehead—so tenderly. She let a smile soften her face as Hodgins walked toward her with a cup of coffee and a bottle of water. He sat beside her and took a sip as he watched Brennan lean over the little incubator and her blue eyes grew bluer as they filled with salty tears. She laughed it off and shook her head at her foolishness. But Booth knew bettter and reached for her hand.

There once was a time where Angela and Hodgins theorized about when or how their friends would finally see what they were missing and would throw caution to the wind and fall into bed and love. But years later, they smiled to themselves and theorized not. Whenever these two fell in love would be in their own timing… and chances were, it would be something terrible that would throw them those last few feet into each other's arms.

**********

_Gracias!_


	26. Chapter 26

Angela watched as a somewhat familiar woman walked down the hallway toward her. She looked a little lost, so Angela asked, "Carol-Jean?"

She smiled cautiously, as if she didn't know whether or not she should recognize Angela. Angela introduced herself and Carol-Jean's smile softened, "It's good to see you again, honey."

"Bren and Booth are in there with the baby. You can sit next to me and wait if you like."

Carol-Jean nodded and settled into a seat next to her, the snow falling from the shoulders of her navy blue coat and sprinkled the back of the seat. In her hand was some sort of book that was covered by two plastic grocery bags. Angela didn't ask what it was. They sat in silence for several minutes.

"The weather's terrible," Angela sighed. "I'm almost afraid to go home."

"My son put chains on my tires last night. Goodness only knows I wouldn't be able to do it myself. He drove three towns over just to put those on for me."

"You raised him right," Angela said politely.

Carol-Jean shook her head, "You wouldn't have said that if you saw what he was like when he graduated from high school. He was so angry with me…" an unknown pain twisted her features for a second, then her face softened once again, her cheeks pink from the cold and her blue were glittering and youthful once again. She may have aged, but it was easy to tell that she was young still at heart. "He was so mad at me that I didn't hear a word from him for six years. He went off to the army and I didn't hear from him until he was about to marry Minnie. She told him that if she was going to marry him, then he needed to make amends. He was true to his word and… I think things are a lot better now."

"Can I ask why he was mad?"

"I was a young mom. I didn't know better. I wanted to be his friend, but I learned too late that I was there to be his _mother_. Friendship may come later, but mothering should always come first. Remember that, Angela; remember that."

Angela nodded and looked over at Booth and Brennan. They had been in that NICU for almost an hour. She wondered what they were talking about. The curiosity would have killed her if Carol-Jean didn't start on her next topic, which was so fascinating that she stayed glued to her seat for the next thirty minutes without noticing how fast time had flown.

Inside the NICU room, the nurse who was in the delivery room walked over to Booth and Brennan.

Booth smiled, recognizing her. "You look familiar," he said.

She smiled back, "I've been banned from the delivery room, but I think I like it in here a lot better. The lead doctor's great." She checked all of the baby's machines: heart monitor, blood pressure, etc. "She looks great. Very stable. It's actually kind of amazing. A lot of babies…" she looked over at Brennan and felt guilty quickly.

"They don't have a very high rate of recovery," Brennan finished for her.

"Especially when they're… a little early like this. But she really has a fighting spirit, doesn't she?" The nurse felt like talking more. Any other doctor wouldn't have thought twice about giving their little baby oxygen, but that particular O.B. didn't like to be 'wrong'. This made him the best, but unfortunately it also made him rather heartless.

"Like her mom," Booth said.

The nurse felt the awkward moment between the two, but didn't know what the root of the issue was. She quickly moved on, "I tried to put an IV into her little arm, but she fought me off. That's why it's in her skull. It isn't hurting her, though. It just looks worse than it actually is."

Booth nodded. "When—When…"

"When will the corrective surgery be?" Brennan finished.

"Well… that really depends on her stability. Right now, and I'm no expert, but it looks like it could be any day now. The high risk pediatric doctor was in here while you were still unconscious and he seemed really surprised at how alert she was and how great all of her vitals are. The hernia seems to be a little more severe, and she has the age and size thing against her, but for some reason… it's as if she's doing better than even children with more severe omphaloceles. Like I said, she had this fighting spirit about her." The nurse straightened. "Would you like to hold her?"

Brennan seemed to straighten, too. Suddenly she never felt so afraid in her life. Carrying her child inside of herself was one thing, but holding her child in her arms suddenly felt frightening and permanent. Would she be able to love her and give her everything she deserved emotionally? (Financially, educationally, and materialistically she knew she could.) She began to tell herself about all of the anthropological bonding that went on between mother and newborn: chemicals, hormones, smells, sights… this would be normal eventually.

"Now?" Booth asked. He seemed just as nervous, which put Brennan at ease. Even being an experienced parent didn't make him more comfortable. Perhaps it was a normal emotional response?

The nurse opened the little casement. Brennan noticed her nametag, "Jenny". "Have you come up with a name for her?"

"Booth seems attached to the name Lucy."

The nurse smiled. "And you? Are you attached to Lucy as well?"

"Of course I'm attached to her," was Brennan's serious and emphatic response.

"The name," she said.

"Oh, yes. I think it's a lovely name… Strong, not too common, not trendy…"

"And a middle name? Lucy…?"

"We… we haven't discussed middle names yet."

"You still have time," the nurse said. "In the meantime, Little Miss Lucy Booth, meet your mommy and daddy." The nurse had just assumed that her name would be Booth, but instead of feeling _irate_, Brennan felt a chill run through her spine and warm her cheeks. Her child was Booth's child! And it was _wonderful_.

As the little infant was in mid air, being transferred in the nurse's arms, Brennan began to talk nervously, "Survival rates of full-term infants are 74 percent in children who are primarily completely closed. Of course, that means that 26 percent of children didn't survive," she looked at Booth. He could tell she was trying to rationalize so she wouldn't be upset. "and of course she was born earlier than she needed to be, but she's a _fighter_."

Booth nodded encouragingly, "Yeah, she is, Bones. She's a fighter." His voice was almost a whisper.

He could see tears in her eyes as she spoke. "_She's a fighter."_

"She has a little of you and a little of me, Bones. She's going to be OK." Booth squatted beside the rocking chair where Brennan was sitting.

"True that we're both fighters, Booth, but is it genetic?" Brennan remembered all of the logical reasons she presented for wanting Booth as a donor. But the true reason had nothing to do with probability or genetics. It had everything to do with an unnamed feeling, something so _intangible_ that it scared Brennan when she felt herself believing in it.

The nurse laid the baby in Brennan's arms, "Be careful of the hernia. It's protected, but it's delicate."

The moment she was in her arms, there was such an unbelievable connection that Brennan began to cry. Booth noticed and wiped the tears from her eyes. "It's OK, Bones."

"I don't know why I'm crying."

"Because you love her." Brennan looked at Booth. "Sometimes love just _happens_, Bones. You don't expect it. It just _happens_."

Brennan looked back down at the little sleeping babe, pale with sweet red curls and long curling lashes. It still amazed her that she was so unique… so _perfect_. Perfect may be an impossible thing, except for when speaking of certain mathematical equations, but _she_… _she_ was perfect. Brennan looked up at Booth, "Brennan is a good middle name."

"You sure about that, Bones?"

She nodded and touched Lucy's tiny hands. Her little hand wrapped around her finger—and her heart.

Booth smiled. As the meaning of what Brennan had said was setting in, his grin grew. He leaned close and kissed her on the forehead. "It's a great name."

**

When she had settled down in her hospital room bed, she still felt the sweet weight of her tiny baby girl in her arms. The room was dark and it almost matched how she felt to a T.

Brennan couldn't fight the urge to feel terribly sad about not having her baby in her arms when she heard a soft knock at her door.

"Angela?" Brennan sat up a little bit, trying to not look so depressed when she saw Carol-Jean walk into the room.

"Hey, honey, how ya doin'?"

Brennan nodded, "I'm sore, tired, and I've been given some strong medication which makes me feel like I'm talking into a box—which the doctor assured me was normal."

Carol-Jean laughed a little and sat down beside her, pulling the chair a little closer. "She's a real doll, honey. I could see her through the glass. You can see a lot of her daddy in her. And a lot of her mama. Seems to me that she inherited a lot of your spunk, Tempe."

"I'm not entirely sure that 'spunk' is an inheritable trait, but if it is… Booth is quite spunky himself."

She laughed softly, "He definitely seems like the… what's the phrase I'm thinking of?... the _Alpha Male_ type."

Brennan seemed surprised by this, "That's what I've always said."

"Then it must be true."

Brennan looked at the book in her aunt's hands, "What's that?"

"I thought we might look through this. I thought that it was something you would want to see." She flipped through the family album. There were so many unfamiliar faces that Brennan mostly sat quietly and tried to recognize familiar bone structures.

Carol-Jean flipped to the next page. The scrap book was yellowed and the tape was fragile that held the photos down behind the foggy film. A photo slipped inside the plastic. Brennan looked at it. The bone structure was so unbelievably uncanny, that Brennan reached out and stopped the page. "Is that…"

"That's your mom… my half sister." She tapped the page thoughtfully. "I remember this day…" She smiled and brought Brennan back with her to the seventies. "It was the last day that I ever saw your mom. I had a great bond with your mom. I loved Anna of course, but we had a special connection."

"I thought there was a third sister."

"Huh? Oh, I don't know a whole lot about her. I just know that her name was Temperance, just like you." She flipped to another page. "My father was hurt by your grandmother's mental illness. I think he was ashamed, so I didn't see a lot of pictures or hear a lot of stories, but over time, I was able to piece together a bit of a story. There she is. She looked… so much like you. Brown hair, blue eyes… I heard she was a feisty little thing, too. She stood her ground and didn't hold her tongue. I guess once," she laughed, "she hit a boy on the nose at a church picnic. My dad was so angry, but he couldn't whip her. She had a way about her." She touched the photo tenderly. "She died in your grandmother's lap on the way to the hospital. Your mom once told me about that. She watched her die. It was terrible. For some reason, I think your mom blamed herself and, well, _I know,_ your grandmother did, too. Which is probably why she never quite recovered…" She flipped back to the photo of the last time she saw Brennan's mother.

Carol-Jean recalled walking into the hospital and seeing the happy little family. She had no idea it would be the last time she would see her sister or her niece and nephew.

"I just remember how proud she was of you," Carol-Jean said. "_So proud,_ Temperance. She let me hold you and I just remember how gentle she was with you." Shortly after that visit, her father never mentioned their names again. "I only could guess that your parents moved far away, but as I grew older, I guessed that something much worse happened." She unattached the bindings from the pages and handed them to Brennan. "I want you to keep these. They're a record of your history—your lineage."

There was a moment where Brennan felt she was going to look for the ring, so Brennan slid her hand beneath the blanket and reached for the pages. "I wouldn't mind a _copy_."

"I've already made copies. Don't you worry about that, honey."

For some reason that Brennan couldn't explain, she felt that Carol-Jean was lying and wanted her to take the pages as a gift. Confusedly, she reached for the pages. "Thank you."

"And one more thing." She reached inside her purse and took out a blue plastic bag. "I came across this when I was in my teens. Anna had Kathryn baptized in it and after that it just stayed in the attic forever. Your grandmother crocheted it and each of her girls were baptized in it. I guess I felt like a bit of an outsider sometimes with my sisters having these memories and this heritage, but of course, I love my own dear mother…" She took out the little crocheted gown. "Lucy might not fit in it by the time she's out of the hospital, but I thought it should go to its rightful owner."

Brennan didn't know what to say as the little whitish gown with tiny yellow rosettes was laid on her lap. There was so much history in it… so many memories and connections... Her mother wore this dress. Her aunts. Her grandmother crocheted it with love for her little daughters. Suddenly the little ring that was once on her finger wasn't her only connection to the past. And it was overwhelming.

"It's the hormones. I cried all the time after my kids were born," Carol-Jean said, standing. "I should get going before it's too dark for me to drive. I have night blindness. I can't see a darn thing after dark." Carol-Jean sensed that she wouldn't get much of a reply from her strange niece, so she left silently after kissing Brennan.

Brennan couldn't keep her eyes off the little gown. She hadn't even gotten the chance to verbalize that she wasn't Catholic, not even religious (although the thought had passed through her mind). Instead, the gravity of the little gown had taken the words from her lips.

**********

_Thanks! I hope you're enjoying the new season of Bones!  
_


	27. Chapter 27

Cam stood back. This wasn't her moment. It was his. She averted her eyes, but looked up as Booth, with his hands inside the isolette, tenderly lifted Lucy's little arm and give her a little fist-bump. Leaving the NICU had become increasingly harder to do in the weeks following Brennan's release from the hospital. There was distance. There was insecurity and fear.

Lucy continued to gain weight and strength, but there was always that thought in the back of everyone's minds… the thoughts of what-if…

Then came her first fever.

The opening that the omphalocele created was a virtual doorway for disease. He held Brennan's hand through the night and into the next day. A gloomy shadow fell over the NICU and the Jeffersonian. People worked with their hands, but their hearts weren't there. At 3:00, Cam told everyone to leave. Nothing was getting done there. They all left and stood vigil through the night.

The fever receded, but it had left its mark. Lucy began to lose weight and color. She stopped kicking and crying quite so much. Tests came back negative. One young doctor once said something along the lines of Lucy not having the [metaphorical] heart to continue, to which Brennan replied scathingly that he could leave his opinions and non-scientific conjecture at home or not come around again.

That night, Lucy was resting and Booth knew he had to put aside his most paranoid feelings for Brennan whose eyes were shadowed with exhaustion.

"Just… keep an eye on her for me," Booth said at the door.

Cam nodded, "Of course."

She watched him leave, then sat in the rocking chair that was beside the isolette.

The room was silent and aside from a few of the nursing staff, she was alone. She smiled at the little infant. So small! So sick. And yet, so perfect. She had never regretted choosing not to be a mother until Michelle had come into her life. And since she had, she couldn't quite shake the feeling that she had missed out on all of those special moments that came with being a firsttime mother to a newborn.

No, she wasn't jealous. That wasn't why she had to brush away a tear in the dim NICU light. She was more than lucky and more than blessed. She may have rejected happiness at one point in her life, but happiness had found her. She would just have to gather her senses.

A white tissue.

Cam followed the hand that was holding it out to her—a strong, dark, broad hand. A strong muscular arm. A warm and inviting smile and a deep voice.

Cam laughed a little ashamedly and took the tissue.

"Filling in for the night?" the doctor asked quickly. It was a smart move. Cam didn't have a chance to feel embarrassed. And before she knew it, she was chatting in the little NICU in low, hushed tones with a man who was sexy, smart, and probably six years too young for her. But it was just a conversation. Conversation didn't have to lead anywhere. And it wasn't necessarily fate that led him to her side with a tissue when she was feeling her lowest and loneliest. Was it?

***

Macaroni and Cheese. Dry pasta. Apples. Did she ever eat here? "Bones, I think I'm just gonna order in. Any pref…" He stopped in the livingroom. She had been there a moment ago. "Bones?" He walked toward the bedroom and spotted her tall figure wrapped in white, standing in the doorway of the little nursery that was still undone. The windows were curtainless, the walls were sea-green as they had been before, and the only thing that was set up was the crib that Booth had put together when Lucy was clinging to life. It didn't make sense to others why he had gone back to Brennan's apartment for an hour. Something in him said that if she had a bed to sleep in, then she would be well again. He returned with steadfast and steely eyes and held her hand. It was almost frightening how distant he seemed to the world. He held Brennan's hand but said nothing. Brennan even muttered once, "She'll be fine," despite the fact that she didn't believe she actually would.

She didn't make any sounds, but he thought that she was crying. She let out a held-onto breath.

"Hey, Bones," he whispered.

She turned, the only sound being the sounds of her robe against her bare legs. Seeing her face traced with lines of worry and impending doom was too much for him. He took her into his arms.

"Hey, Bones, it's OK. It's OK." He didn't expect it, but she let him comfort her. It was one of those few, sweet moments that he clung to. He closed his eyes. She smelled sweet… like sweetpea and honey. Why did she have to smell so amazing? Worry retreated. Thoughts of a daily life-and-death fight disappeared along with professionalism and distance. His fingers traced her spine. He expected the moment to end with a sharp slap to the cheek, but instead, she pressed against him. Softly. And she felt amazing in his arms. Her every curve felt so natural against his hands—the curve of her hip, the curve of her buttocks—especially so beneath her robe.

He caught her lips with his. She responded without hesitation and with heated passion in the doorway of the little unfinished nursery. Sweets would've made a psychological comment about the release of frustration, fear, and sexual tension. But psychology was an inaccurate science to Brennan and to Booth—Booth would've agreed wholeheartedly at that moment. And there was no stopping them. Not fear. Not grief. Or maybe that's what was propelling themselves into eachother's arms in a passionate tangle between hot sheets and hungry open-mouthed kisses.

He moved to pull her top over her head. Her first thought was embarrassment over her new body—a few new stretch marks and swollen breasts—but to him, she had never been more beautiful, so womanly, so sexy—so his! He kissed her again, this time with more tenderness… and maybe a touch of sadness, that they would regain their senses and this would be a mistake and placed under a rock in the past… but it was now. And she was his. Even if it was for a moment.

Their furvor was interrupted by the buzz of Booth's cell phone. At first he ignored it and let it go to voicemail, but then the phone buzzed again and slipped from the side table to the carpet.

They both stopped, fear glazing over their eyes. Who called twice in a row at 11 PM? Booth scrambled from the bed (how did they even get to the bed?) and flipped open the phone.

"Hey, Cam? What's wrong?"

"I think you need to get here fast. Lucy's temp is spiking I—It's time to use that siren of yours, Seeley."

***

Lucy was waiting outside of the O.R. when Booth and Brennan came running down the hallway. Cam, Hodgins, and Sweets were waiting for them.

"What's going on?" Booth demanded from the doctor that stood by Cam's side.

"Dave Murray, Chief of Pediatrics," he firmly shook his hand. "Do we have permission to close the omphalocele? Time is… the surgery has to be performed in order to save her life. Do we have permission, Dr. Brennan?" He looked at Brennan, then back at Booth. "I have reason to believe that if the hernia is covered, then she'll have a better shot at life."

"What about the fever?" Brennan asked.

"It's under control at the moment. Do I have your permission?"

Booth nodded, not noticing Brennan's reaction, and signed the paperwork that a nurse handed to him. His hands and head felt like lead. He felt like he was signing away Lucy's life… it didn't sound rational at all, but it's how he felt.

As he signed, Brennan disappeared from the crowd. Hodgins called after her, "Dr. Brennan," but she didn't turn.

Booth stood and watched until Lucy was out of sight. The risks were too high for anyone but surgeons to be inside. He turned slowly, coming to his senses that Brennan would need comforted. "Where's Bones?"

"She just left," Cam said, shrugging sadly.

Booth took off down the hall, stopping nurses as he ran. He finally found Brennan on the rooftop. Snowflakes crowned her head like a halo. She looked so lovely. He put his hands into his pockets, feeling the barriers that had been built up. A moment of passion could've saved them minutes… could have saved _Lucy_ minutes.

Brennan heard his feet crunching in the snow behind her. Her teeth chattered, but she didn't turn. The icy chips of snow landed on her face like some silent yet welcome punishment. The one time she gave into her sexual desires for Booth was the one time that it mattered.

He crossed his arms over his chest, "It's cold out here, Bones. Why don't you come in?"

He walked until he was standing next to her. He didn't touch her or offer her his jacket. He knew her too well for that. He knew it would be rejected at that moment. They stood in silence for a few minutes more.

"Why don't we go in, Bones. You're shivering."

They stood a little longer before he walked a few steps toward the doorway in hopes that she would follow him. She stood her ground so he turned and looked back at her.

She turned and looked at him. The snowflakes were falling faster now. She remembered him standing in the snow three Christmases before, a cell phone to his ear, a look of what some might call 'love' in his eyes and on his lips.

He seemed to be waiting for an answer of some sort and it overwhelmed her with frustration. She made a helpless gesture, slapping her thigh as emotion over came her and her voice trembled. "I feel like this is my fault. I know that's… it's not… but…"

With a few swift steps, she was being held tightly in his arms. "Listen to me, Bones. It's not your fault. It's nobody's fault. Don't you dare think that for a second."

"Does being afraid make me weak--minded?" she asked, almost afraid of the answer itself.

"We're all scared sometime, Bones. It's what makes us human. I know I'm scared."

They stood, two twisted trees in a storm of snow and ice, holding up against uncertainty. But together, they were stronger. In those minutes together, something changed in their relationship. Something that hadn't been changed by hours of coffee and longing glances. Something that hadn't been changed by a wild _almost_-love-making session. It was the last stone to be removed. And the walls crumbled beneath their feet.

**********

_Don't forget to watch Bones this Thursday! It's hitting all-time high ratings!  
_


	28. Chapter 28

Angela closed her eyes tightly and reopened them. It was four-thirty in the morning. The gang was all there, waiting patiently. Cam was napping on the waiting room couch opposite of them with her head in Michelle's lap. Michelle had fallen asleep with a pen in her hand and a half-finished Cosmo quiz next to her left thigh.

Angela sat up carefully so as to not disturb Brayden who was curled up against her. He cried a little bit, then fell back to sleep much to Angela's relief.

The tiles on the floors were freshly mopped and smelled of bleach and a vague hospitaly scent. Angela mused for a moment that she would have said that it was the smell of death in those years before Brennan got her a job at the Jeffersonian. She definitely knew the smell of death now. Maybe what she was smelling was life? Or of the fighting-for of life?

On her way out of the hospital, she spotted Booth at the O.R. doors. He stood there, his arms crossed, a deep crease in his furrowed brow, his eyes closed. She knew he was praying. She said nothing to him, but secretly said a prayer for him. Nothing crazy. Just that his prayers would be answered. She didn't know much about God or prayer, but if there was anybody she knew who did, it had to be Booth. Nobody she knew had faced down life and death so often… had given up so much… and continued to be the truest of gentlemen and such a genuine sweetheart. He knew what he was doing.

The hospital double-doors slid open with automatic gusto. Snowflakes on rippling and tormented winds swirled around her. Sitting on the curb was an unrecognizable figure. At the same time, she knew who it was. She took a seat beside Brennan. There they sat quietly for several minutes.

"You know," Angela began cautiously, "you're not as tough as you seem." Brennan looked at her, leaning her hand on her fist. "Have you ever had M&Ms? You have a hard shell, sweetie, but you're sweet and soft on the inside." She laughed lightly. "Oh. I guess I'm starting to become a mom. I'm using metaphors I'd use for Brayden." She looked seriously at Brennan again. "You love Lucy. You may not admit it, sweetie, but you loved her from the moment you knew you were pregnant. Probably before that when you were thinking about a little BROOTH baby."

"Angela, I'm not sure I can understand you right now. I'm tired…"

"…and worried and scared. I get it, sweetie. I'm just saying it's OK to love her and let your heart love her. I mean, look at that nursery. You haven't—Brennan, look at me. Just look at me, sweetie. Why haven't you fixed up the nursery?"

"I've been busy, Angela." Brennan tried to make an escape. Angela grabbed her hand and sat her down promptly.

"I know you better than that, Bren. You get so afraid when you fall in love and you think the universe is going to steal away that wonderful, amazing feeling that you freeze up. Lucy needs you—Booth needs you. I… I need you. You need to have faith that Lucy is going to be OK—and don't give me one of those speeches of yours about faith is seeing what people can do… and maybe that's what's scaring you so much. You think you haven't seen Lucy fight something like this before so you're afraid. You think you have no foundation for your faith, but think again. Look around you, Brennan. The fact that she was born alive tells me that she's a fighter. The fact that she's fought infections tells me she's a fighter. And the fact that she obviously inherited your awesomeness and Booth's kick-assedness tells me that Lucy Brennan Booth is going to be OK."

Brennan hugged her impulsively. "You're right, Angela," she said as she held her near. "You're right. I know that Lucy is a fighter. Booth talked to me earlier. That doesn't keep me from thinking about it…"

"You're scared."

Brennan nodded. "More than I've ever been in my life. Even more so than that when I was in El Salvador. It's much more frightening. It's not _my_ life I'm afraid for, Ange. It's _Lucy's_. And I feel like I have no control over the outcome."

"Have you tried praying?"

Brennan tilted her head with a look on her face that said it all.

Angela quickly recanted, "Well, it doesn't matter anyway. I think Booth's doing enough for the both of us." She laughed lightly, then after a moment, "Well, I should go inside. It's cold out here. Wanna come with?"

"No." Brennan turned after Angela had walked a few feet. "Did you love your baby before you knew you were pregnant?"

Angela froze. "How did you--?"

"I'm a Forensic Anthropologist. I can see that your ilia have shifted and your gait has changed.."

"OK, sweetie, if we're gonna keep being best friends, you can't go using your creepy super powers on me."

The women laughed.

"I'm happy for you, Angela. Congratulations," Brennan said sincerely.

Angela could tell she was sincere. Brennan wasn't good at lying, after all. "Thank you, sweetie."

Angela passed Booth at the door. He smiled at her, which was rather confusing since he seemed so scared a moment ago. "You OK, Booth?"

He put his hands in his pockets, walked a few steps backward like a boy and grinned, "Better than ever."

Angela shook her head and went back inside.

Booth held out his hand to Brennan. She took it confusedly and to her surprise, he hugged her tightly. She hugged him back. "Booth, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Bones. Everything's right."

"Is Lucy in recovery?"

Booth nodded. "They just wheeled her into recovery. She's doing great, Bones."

Brennan smiled at him—one of those once in a lifetime smiles that made his heart skip a beat. "I want to go check on her. Then I need to go lay down for a few hours."

"Me, too actually. I'm exhausted." She took a few steps. "You know, Bones," he began, making her turn toward him. "This whole thing with Lucy… it just really reminds me that life is short."

Brennan tried to discern what he was meaning. At a loss she said, "The average lifespan in the United States is 77.1 years. Of course in Zambia it's only 37.2 years. And in Andorra it's 83.5 years so it's probably a matter of perspective more than anything. And there are other factors such as personal habits, eating habits, pollution…"

"Stay with me tonight, Bones." He waited for her reply. He only received a fearful deer-in-the-headlights look from her. "I'll sleep on the couch," he continued, stepping toward her playfully. Had it become a joke!? "I have some beer…"

"I'm pumping."

"Juice. I have milk. Cider? Tea. It makes logistical sense, Bones. Bad weather. We're going to the same place. I have four-wheel drive."

"OK." Brennan nodded before she could talk herself out of it or introduce logic into the response. "Let's go check on Lucy."

As they walked into the hospital, Angela and Cam were talking over something seriously in low tones. Brennan was able to make out the words, "Skeletons? C'mon, they like that stuff!" Then they both burst into laughter.

Sweets walked in behind them. "Hey, if you guys need a nap or something, I canceled a few of my appointments. Have my laptop right here."

"Thanks, Sweets," Booth said to him as they walked toward recovery.

"Any time, guys. That's what I'm here for—well, not literally, but y'know. We're friends."

"You know, I'm sorry I ever called you Huggies," Booth said sincerely, slapping him on the shoulder.

Sweets nodded good-naturedly as Booth and Brennan walked out of sight. Then his smile disappeared and everything registered. "Wait. When did you…? Hey, guys. You don't really… Nobody's heard you call me that, right? Guys, come on! And… I'm talking to myself again. Great."

Angela walked up beside him and kissed him on the cheek. "Don't listen to those big mean ol' bullies, Sweetsie."

Sweets glared at her.

"I'm joking, Sweets. Now, think you can babysit with Hodgins for a little while? Cam, Michelle, and I have to go do something."

"What?"

"Nunya," Angela grinned.

"Can I help?" Daisy blurted.

Angela was bewildered for a moment by Daisy's ability to appear suddenly at any given moment. "Sure," Angela said. "But you have to promise me something."

"OK. On my honor, I will try to serve God and my country and to live by the Girl Scout law!" Daisy held up her fingers.

"Wow," Angela said. "OK. On one condition: That you keep your lips zipped."

"Lips are zipped," she mimed the zipping of her lips. "Lock the padlock and throw it away." She mimed this as well.

"Deal, then," Angela said.

Daisy clapped and jumped excitedly, then jogged off to where Cam and Michelle were waiting and bundled.

Sweets pleaded before Angela was out of ear-shot, "Just don't hurt her."

"No promises, Sweets."

"Oh, my God. She's gonna kill her," Sweets muttered to himself as they walked away, Daisy bouncing behind them.


	29. Chapter 29

Booth kicked the snow off from his shoes at the door. Brennan had already slipped her shoes off and had disappeared into his bathroom. He took off his jacket and walked toward the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. He couldn't help his ears listening to every little sound. He wondered if… Let's just say that his imagination began to wander. But let's be honest here, folks. It had been four years. He knew how to wrangle that imagination and wrangle he did.

He felt a headache coming on—one of those side effects of his surgery—and reached into the cabinet for a glass, which he filled with water. He began to walk toward the bathroom. "Uh, hey, Bon…" his feet froze to the ground.

A soft light from the bathroom bathed the darkened hallway. He stood in the shadows. And to tell you the truth, his first thought wasn't sexual. OK. His second thought wasn't sexual. Instead, he was acutely aware of the intimacy of the situation.

When Brennan went into Booth's apartment, she had already laid out the least complicated way to stay the night at his house. She was going to steal one of his shirts and quickly change in the bathroom before he knew what hit him. She would be in his spare room surrounded by… whatever it is ten year old male children these days like… and would drift off to sleep with only a few words exchanged between them. Five minutes tops.

Unfortunately for her reawakening libido, she found herself dwelling on a few certain things somewhere between rational thought and the conversation had with Booth about a case he was solving with Perotta.

Once inside the bathroom, she kicked off her jeans and pulled her shirt over her head. Both items were discarded to the tiles. She then reached for the shirt she had snatched from Booth's drawer (second drawer from the top). She didn't bother with how she had such a personal knowledge of Booth's drawers. She probably wouldn't be able to pinpoint the first time she rummaged through the drawers. Maybe it came from all of those times she brought him a clean change of clothing when he was hospitalized for being shot, stabbed, blown up, or beaten?

But as she reached for the shirt, she caught a glance of her body. It was really the first time she had looked at herself in the mirror. She ran her finger across the red scar from which her baby had been born. She remembered the sea green nursery and the way Booth had touched her, kissed her, pressed against her. He didn't notice these changes as she had. Of course, he was probably just horny and wanted sex. He would've been blinded by a surge of sexual urgency.

Booth watched for a moment, then politely knocked. Brennan pulled the shirt over her head and pulled the shorts she found in the top drawer over her undies. Homer Simpson boxers, in case you were wondering.

"Do you need something?" she asked, bluntly. She was calm in the outside, but on the inside, she was worried he had seen her. Worried? Who had she become?

Booth came into the bathroom and reached for the cabinet. "Excedrin," he smiled. He was still trying to figure out exactly what he had just seen. He still remembered the way she felt in his arms. He still remembered the way she smelled and how her soft skin felt against his broad hands. Why would she be self-conscious? Maybe he should ask Sweets about it later?

He unscrewed the cap and felt Brennan's eyes on him the entire time.

"What's up, Bones?" he asked at last, screwing the cap back on, then looking at her seriously.

She seemed as if she would say something, but then said, "Nothing, Booth. Should I just…?"

"Oh, yeah. Let me, Bones." He swallowed the pills, shut off the light and led Brennan to the spare room (not that she didn't know where it was).

Brennan had never seen Parker's room before. It was very similar to how she had imagined it. There were indeed age-appropriate items decorating the room.

"Right now, he's really into the Yankees. I told him the Phillies were better, but y'know… after they bombed the Series, he refuses to believe me."

"Your first point of contention?" Brennan asked, slightly amused.

"No," Booth answered quickly. He smiled with a memory. "It's just part of being a parent, Bones. They teach you just as much as you teach them."

Brennan rolled that around for a moment. "I suppose that could be true at some point, but until a certain age, it's more than arguable that the adult parent would know more than the offspring."

Booth sat on Parker's bed and took an Erector model from his side-table. "When he was born, Bones, I thought… How am I supposed to take care of this little person and be a role model…"

"You're an excellent father, Booth."

"Yeah, Bones, but at that point, it's… it's scary. You don't know what you're doing. You've never been a parent before. You don't know what's going to happen… Bones, Parker taught me the meaning of true love. When you hold your child in your arms, there's nothing like it. Nothing. And it's forever. Believe me, Bones, _they_ teach _you_. From day one."

Brennan took a seat beside Booth and took the model from Booth's hands. She looked at it thoughtfully for a few minutes. "I didn't think it could feel like that," she whispered. Then she looked up at Booth.

"Love is… it's amazing. Huh, Bones?"

She smiled at him. "Yes."

In his mind, there couldn't be anything more wonderful to come from Brennan's lips. So, he kissed them.

Angela was deep in concentration. Sun-yellow paint had spattered here and there, but thanks to a thick mask that was tied over her nose and mouth, the paint would only spatter on the things that were the most difficult to wash out… such as her dark hair that was pulled high into a pony tail, or the messy multi-colored painting shirt that she wore over old jeans. A fan spun in the corner circulating air and playing with black strands of hair that tickled the her forehead. She reached up and scratched, then made the last few strokes on a large golden sun.

She was deep in concentration when Cam, Daisy, and Michelle came in with drinks. "This party needs to be spiced up," Cam announced, handing an alcoholic beverage to Angela. Cam went to hand one to Daisy, but she kept it out of her reach, "You're not a silly drunk, are you? Because I don't know if I could deal with Daisy times two."

"Um, I actually tend to cry and tell secrets about myself to people that I swore I'd never share with anyone."

"Just one for you, then," Cam laughed.

"None for me," Angela said.

Daisy giggled, burped, covered her mouth, then asked, "What, are you pregnant?"

Angela just looked at her straight-faced, then asked, "I was thinking of highlighting the bottom of the sun with Goldenrod, what do you think?"

"Wow," Cam said. "It's just—I mean, wow."

"O.M.G.," Daisy said, wide-eyed.

Michelle gave Daisy a curious look, then said, "Why is it such a big deal? You're married, right?"

"In the real world, it's a lot more than just 'Are you married or not'". Cam crossed her arms.

"It's not. It's not a big deal," Angela said, her voice pitching. She made a gesture which sent Goldenrod splattering around the room.

Daisy jumped back.

"Does Hodgins know?" Cam asked.

"Of course he knows. And he's fine. It's not like we can't afford two children."

"What about Brayden's therapy?"

"Four times a week he has speech therapy and he has physical therapy twice a week. He's doing great. Thriving. It's going to be great, I mean…" Angela realized that maybe she was mostly trying to convince herself more than anything.

"What about your job? I mean, a friend of mine got preggers and she dropped school like a hot skillet," Michelle said.

Angela was silent for several seconds, her mind in another galaxy. "I think… I need to step out for some air or something."

"Angela, I didn't mean to…" Cam tried to stop her, but watched her walk out of the apartment. She then looked back at the mural Angela had painted. It looked great. Again, that sadness began to creep in… that feeling that maybe she had missed out on something in life.

A cell phone rang. Michelle answered it, "Uh-huh. OK. I'm sure it's fine with my mom. OK. See you there." She hung up the cell phone, "Is it OK if I go with Makaylee to the movies tonight?"

Cam nodded, a little dazed. Michelle probably didn't notice what she had said as she walked out of the room. Daisy chatted about strawberries and pink or something along those lines, but Cam was content in the thought that she had done everything right in her life.

She smiled.

Then her own cell chimed its familiar tune. She looked down and saw that she was expecting a text message from David Murray. Where did she learn that name? Oh, yeah. The handsome YOUNG doctor that she met in the NICU.

Accept? Decline?

She accepted it.

_Inbox: Free tonight?_

She felt her cheeks warm. Daisy was transfixed by the little apple blossoms that danced around the window treatments. She replied, "Maybe."

After a minute, he hadn't replied, so she decided to shoo Daisy out of the apartment and search for Angela. As she locked up, she received another text message. She took her hands out of her gloves, exposing them to a wintry D.C. wind.

_Inbox: I'll pick you up at 8._

For a moment, she was bewildered. How could he possibly…? Instead of asking the obvious, she replied, "See you then." If he wanted to play Sexy and Mysterious, she wouldn't fight it. She would sit back and see what happens.

****

_Thank you for reading. I apologize for the inconsistency in updates. Right now my goal is just to finish it. This semester has been kicking my butt in the worse way. I will try to update once a week. I have time to be creative every weekend. I'm hoping that when I do sit down and write, that something comes of it and I have something to share with you guys._


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